GI Joe: Heros and Terrorists
by Darth Henning
Summary: An Alternate Universe G.I. Joe story set in 2031 and beyond about UN Special Task Force 1. Code Name: G.I. Joe. Their purpose: to defend world freedom against Cobra. A ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world. And other threats.
1. Overview and Author's Notes

**PREMIS**

On April 24, 2031 multiple terrorist attacks were launched simultaneously across the globe, striking terror into the hearts of the world. The Statue of Liberty was destroyed by an explosion at its base, the President of the United States, Prime Ministers of Great Britain, Russia, Brazil, Japan, and Australia were assassinated, subway and airport bombings occurred in dozens of cities, and over twenty million people lost their lives.

But not every event was tragic. The leaders of Canada, France, Russia, China and Switzerland were saved by timely interventions by security or average citizens, and numerous bombings were thwarted by the quick action of local or national police or the heroic actions of civilians.

Most of the terrorists were killed before they could be taken hostage, and those who were captured died under mysterious circumstances in prison before they could be interrogated. No identification, criminal or dental records could be found for any of those involved. The only identifying mark common to all was a small tattoo of a stylized snake head behind their left ear.

With intelligence agencies worldwide struggling to piece together what had happened, the United Nations decides to take action after years sitting on the sidelines. By an 80% majority, the member states of the UN vote to establish a peacemaking/peacekeeping/counter-terrorism group under the command of the recently expanded Security Council. The nature of this group would be kept secret even from the member nations' representatives to prevent leaks.

This group would have the authority to act within any nation's sovereign territory to ensure world peace and human rights, even if that meant toppling the current government of a member nation.

Their first priority was to track down and destroy the group responsible for the April 24, 2031 terrorist attacks.

Thus was born UN Special Task Force 1. Code Name: G.I. Joe.

**WHAT'S NEW**

Right now? Everything.


	2. 10 23 2030 Doc NEW

**10/23/2030 - Doc**

Massachusetts General Hospital

Nurse Patricia Rodalt breathed heavily as she made her way up the last flight of stairs, sometimes Carl could be incredibly frustrating, he knew every nook and cranny of the hospital complex and had dozens of places where he would squirrel himself away for hours on end so that few would know where to find him. Patricia was one of those few, but she'd exhausted all but one of them, and she hoped like heck he was here. She was tired. She was hungry, and she wanted to go home to have supper with her husband and her kids. Three major surgeries in one day were tiring enough without having to engage in a one-woman manhunt for her boss.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Patricia strode out into the corridor, thankfully quiet in the early evening and made her way through the triple doors onto the rooftop helipad ledge. There in one of the shelter wells along the edge was Dr. Carl Greer, looking west over over the Charles River Basin. Carl appeared to be attempting to follow two ballgames in Charlsbank park simultaneously, though how he could track either from the fifteenth floor rooftop was beyond her. Since she'd met him in high school, Carl had always been withdrawn and quiet, only opening up to his closest friends, and then only after knowing them for several years. However, Patricia had known him long enough, and had spent the last few years working with him close enough to know exactly what was bothering him these days, and there was a slim chance she might be able to talk him down and get him to deal with it. She paused, perhaps the phrase 'talk him down' wasn't the right one. It wasn't that he was suicidal or anything, just somewhat depressed. Talk him up might be the better phrase, lift his spirits.

Now, how best to approach the situation, she wondered, dive right into it, or attempt the usual pleasant banter they had become accustomed too and subtly bring up the matter at hand to delve into it? After a minute's hesitation she chose the latter, Carl possessed a remarkable ability to deflect a conversation when it went to an area he didn't want to talk about, which of course was useful when you were trying to explain a horrific diagnosis to a family, or calm a patient down prior to surgery, but it could really be very annoying when she was trying to have a conversation with him about certain things. Still, she had to try.

"So there you are," she affected a teasing voice, "hiding from me again?"

Carl didn't turn around, and his voice lacked the usual warmth, "kinda."

"Oh come on, I thought you'd be excited to see me. We were only in the O.R. together for twelve hours."

"Its not that Patty, I," he paused, "I just need some time."

"Well, so much for small talk," she replied, taking a place beside him at the railing and blowing out a large sigh, "your not even in the mood to act."

"Sorry, I'm just not up to it tonight." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a sad, apologetic smile, then dropped back. She noted he was still wearing his lab jacket, even though there was no need up here on the roof.

"If its really bothering you this much, I just wish you'd tell her."

"Tell who what?"

"Oh for God's sake Carl, your not going to play dumb are you?" she burst out. "You know damn well it doesn't suit you."

That got Carl's attention, she never raised her voice, let alone swore, even when the most dire emergencies came though the E.R.

"Its nothing Patty, I'm just a bit bothered by that last case."

"The girl with the zipper? Come on Carl, I know you way better than that, don't bullshit me."

Technically Patricia had to admit that she had been more than a little bothered by the last case herself. Some poor girl around 10 years old had been brought in by her mother because she had gotten her right eyelid stuck in the zipper of a pair of jeans. Patricia was at a loss to explain exactly how that would have happened - especially given that the girl hadn't been wearing the pants at the time - but it had been disturbing none the less. It had taken two hours to find a pair of bolt-cutters delicate enough to cut the zipper close enough to the girl's eyelid that the pants could be removed. Carl had then had to treat the girl's injuries and she'd been admitted for overnight observation. It wasn't as gory as many of the incidents that came through the hospital, but there was something so intrinsically heart-wrenching about an incident like that that stuck out in Patricia's mind. Carl had probably been thinking about the case too, but that was far from the cause of his depression and they both knew it, even if Carl wasn't willing to admit it yet.

"Patricia-"

"No, no more deflections, you've been avoiding this for months and its time you talked to someone about it. I'm fed up dancing around the situation."

A minute passed as Carl seemed to debate with himself before he finally capitulated, "fine, yeah I'm not myself lately."

"This have anything to do with the fact your absolutely nuts over Rachelle?"

"Yep."

The reply was there but just as despondent as the rest of his conversation. This was going to be a long night.

"Carl," she said, leaning against the railing, "its time you manned up and tell her how you feel about her."

"Somehow this doesn't seem the right time," he replied, a twinge of his humor creeping in behind the bitterness.

"Of course its the right time, its the ONLY time. She's getting married in three days!"

Carl sighed and slumped against the railing. Fuuuuuu-

"Carl, if you don't tell her, I'm going to." She paused, wondering how far to push things, "I found the Tiffany's box in your desk. Over a year ago. Why didn't you ask her?"

"Because I couldn't."

"You seem perfectly capable of talking to me."

"She was seeing Dave, and I didn't want it to seem like I was only interested in her now that the surgery was done."

Rachelle was just finishing her Emergency Room surgical residency, putting her a couple years behind Carl. From Patricia's understanding they'd met when they were working in the same lab one summer during their undergraduate degrees. Rachelle had been in a wheelchair with a spinal injury from a car accident in high school at the time. Carl had worked with some of his friends, and surgeons across the continent trying to reach a breakthrough in spinal cord reconstruction, and it had finally been completed three years ago. After proper testing in rats and non-human primates, the procedure had needed to be tested on a human subject, and Rachelle's name had wound up at the top of the list. These days it was impossible to tell that she'd spent almost a decade in a wheelchair. Even the slight limp was almost gone.

"Then why didn't you ask her out before? Even when you were starting residency everyone could see you were crazy about her."

"I couldn't do that," protested Carl, then his voice resumed its dejected resignation, "she would have thought I was dating her out of pity."

"I doubt that, anyone could see you were going nuts working on that treatment for her. I mean come on Carl, your making excuses here, you've got to go talk to her before its too late."

Something changed in Carl's miserable expression. "You think I haven't tried? Every time I get close, something comes up, one of us gets paged, HE walks in...it's just not meant to be Patty. Its just not."

Always frustratingly brilliant, Carl was just being frustrating this evening.

"Just TELL her, you guys can work out the details later. Do you think that Dave really cares about her like you do? Sure he hangs around her all the time, but all he wants is the media spotlight to catch him in its glow so he can promote his talk show from her recovery. You had logical reasons for not asking her out; I may not agree with them, let alone understand them, but at least she'll know you care. That you love her. Say something damn it!"

"I can't. I can't tell her. She's happy with him, and to tell her now...she'd never understand. It would be petty to try and break them up right before their wedding. He's been there for her in ways I only dreamed of being, and he cares for her. He must."

"Your the one who's called him a letch all these years. I know you don't believe yourself. Get a grip doc! "

A sad smile tugged at one corner of Carl's mouth, "you and she are the only ones who still call me that. I'm going to miss you both."

It took Patricia a minute to remember that they were on the roof over a hundred feet in the air.

"Carl!" she exclaimed lunging for him.

He appeared puzzled for a minute, then comprehension dawned, "oh I'm not going to jump Patty." He sighed. "I don't have the guts for that either."

She let go of his belt, "then what are you talking about."

"I'm leaving. I put in my two week's notice last month. Rachelle will be done her residency a month after she gets back from her honeymoon, and she's going to need a competent head nurse." He looked pointedly into her eyes. "I've made all the arrangements."

"Where are you going? When? I can't BELIEVE your springing this on me like that."

"Actually...well...I hadn't really intended to tell you in person. I had a letter written for you. And one for Rachelle."

"That's...that's...INSANE! That's what it is! You can't leave! Your the best surgeon we have!"

"I'm afraid I have to, the military is rather strict about start dates."

"The military? Don't lie to me Carl, I know your a pacifist."

"I am, but even the boys in camo need to be patched up. And you said it yourself, I'm the best we have."

"But...but..." Patricia found herself at a complete loss for words.

"I start next Monday, so Friday will be my last day. I'll be at Rachelle's ceremony, but my flight leaves first thing on Sunday. I've put in to be assigned to a special-operations unit, so I'm not going to be in the thick of things. Don't worry."

"Carl-"

"Don't try to stop me," he interrupted kindly, "I made this decision months ago. I'm going, and I'm going to miss it here. Miss you. But I just...I can't stay."

"You can't be serious." Patricia was at a complete loss, she'd heard people talk about their heart sinking, abut their stomach falling out at hearing bad news, but she'd never experienced it until now. "You...we...I...," she was forced to let the thought die.

"Its my lot in life Patty, you know as well as I do I'm not lucky in love."

"Don't joke Carl. Sure, my sister turned you down when you asked her out in high school, but that was for the best. You've never even given yourself a chance with Rachelle! You've GOT to tell her about this."

"Wrong Rodalt." Carl said, almost inaudibly, then continued in a normal voice, "please Patty, for me. Don't tell her."

"Then you've got to."

"Promise not to tell her. I will. Somehow."

"Fine. I promise. But you only have until Friday night."

"Thank you." Carl stepped away from the edge, "I'm going to go home. I need to think. And to pack."

"Tell her Carl. You have to tell her."

He nodded and started walking away without a word.

Something was bothering her. "Wait! What did you mean 'Wrong Rodalt'?"

Carl paused, steps away from the doors into the building, "like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. The last part with the cups. To paraphrase the Knight Templar 'I choose...poorly'."

By the time the full import of what Carl had just said hit Patricia, he was already gone.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

Code Name: Doc  
File Name: Carl Greer (MD/PhD)  
Birthplace: Concord Massachusetts  
Rank: O4  
Primary Military Specialty: Medical Doctor  
Secondary Military Specialty: Chaplain's Assistant 


	3. 05 13 2031 Lifeline

**05/13/2031 - Lifeline **  
_  
New York - UN Security Council Private Session RE: UN Special Task Force 1_

"And that, is about all we can find out from the bodies until we have time to further analyze one. The circuitry implanted in the communication centers of the subject's brains is far beyond what I expected, and a much more rigorous analysis will have to be carried out. At the moment, Calgary's Foothill's Hospital is the center best equipped to handle this, though it would be possible to utilize labs in Japan, China or Italy. However, for convenience, security and honestly, quality, that is the best choice."

The twenty-five members of the Security Council regarded Dr. Edwin Steen dispassionately. General Joseph Colton watched, his beard hiding his amusement. Possibly the most renowned surgeon one could find, and they still questioned his opinion. What had the world come to these days.

It was the representative from Russia who spoke up first. "It seams awfully convenient _Mr._ Steen that the 'best' place for these tests are at the hospital where you work."

"Well, _Comrade _Talenkov, if it wasn't at my hospital, I wouldn't be here. Someone else would."

Well, thought Colton, those two still hate each other. At least some things never change.

"If the UN will release 5 of the bodies for me to take back with me, I could have a preliminary diagnosis completed within a week. More than that I can't say without getting a better look at their bodies. Whoever is responsible for this took no chances at these people being identified. Their fingerprints have been surgically altered through grafts, mutilation, removal or gene therapy, a criminal's dream. Part of the reason their dental records can't be matched is because all their teeth are artificial implants. Add to that what appears to be more or less random gene therapy throughout their body has prevented any conclusive DNA matching, even if they were on the grid. The only thing that might give us a clue is these implants."

The British representative leaned forward, "What would you need for security?"

"Probably very little so long as no one knows that the bodies are being moved. The agents who killed those we had in custody haven't made any move to retrieve the bodies before now, so they're not likely to try now. Especially if they think they're still here in New York."

Colton leaned forward, "I have a couple people who can provide cover."

"But I must say that-"

"That's enough Talenkov," interjected the French representative. "Much though we all know you would love to rake Dr. Steen over for perceived wrongs, we have other things to do. General Colton, you will finalize the details to release the corpses to Dr. Steen and provision of a security detail. Good luck to you Dr. Steen."

Steen and Colton nodded and began to leave.

"OH, and General..."

"Yes?"

"Your requests have been approved. All eight."

"Thank you."

The doors closed behind the two men.

"Talenkov is still upset I see."

Steen sighed. "Some things never change. At least he's not still on every talk show."

Colton had to try not to smirk. Talenkov's numerous appearances on television accusing Steen of being a murderer had been great entertainment. Everyone outside of Russia had taken Steen's side in the conflict, but it had been more popular to watch Talenkov's latest rantings than to watch the NFL for a few months. Actually, the Oprah interview had bumped the Superbowl to second in the ratings. When else had that happened?

"So, how goes the recruiting drive General?"

"Please call me Joe. Not to bad. I had a few people in mind for another project and they all wanted in on this so I have a good core to build off of. But I'm in need of a medical officer."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?"

"Yeah, there is."

"I'll think about it. I like my job. Or jobs I guess. I don't think I'd be able to run my company if I was working for you guys. And I'd miss the surgeries."

"You actually enjoy cutting people open?"

"Its always been my dream job. Let me put it this way, you know how long and hard you worked for your general's stripes? Would you give that up to work as a security guard at a hospital?"

Colton nodded. Steen had a point.

"I'll think about it though."

The two men strolled down the hallway, passing the time with idle conversation, carefully steering clear of anything to do with the attacks while in the public, or even relatively public parts of the building. Colton swiped a key-card as they entered the first basement to take them to a secure hallway.

"So you want fou..." he trailed off.

Steen frowned, followed Colton's gaze and saw the guards' bodies lying in the hallway.

"Ah crap," he hissed, drawing a pistol from under his suit.

Colton's eyes widened, "How'd you get that past security?"

Steen smiled, "Ceramic composite. Twice as durable as a regular gun, doesn't set of the metal detectors. So's the ammo if you were wondering."

Ceramic composite bullets were designed to explode shortly after impact into tiny razor sharp fragments that could tear apart the chest cavity of a horse. How precisely a civilian was licensed to carry one, Colton had no idea. And when he thought about it, he realized he didn't really want to know. Rather than bothering to ask he slipped over to one of the guard's bodies and pried the assualt rifle from the man's cold hands. He paused to check that it was loaded and grab a couple extra magazines off the man's belt. Steen advanced down the hallway, back pressed against the wall, gun held out aimed at a door on the opposite side of the hallway. The door to the morgue. The morgue that held the bodies of the captured terrorists. Looked like someone wanted to retrieve them after all.

Colton paused to wonder if the doc had any training, he seemed to know what he was doing. He grabbed the other guard's rifle and ammo and moved up beside Steen.

"You ever used that before?"

"On a target range. Other than that, just some virtual reality practice."

"Good enough. You flank the door, I'll...oh shit."

Two men, armored in orange and blue and carrying what looked to be stylized riot shields entered the hallway. Their backs were to Steen and Colton, at least for now.

Steen raised an eyebrow. Colton nodded, bringing up his rifle, only to have it stopped by Steen's hand. Steen shook his head, and raised his pistol. Colton started to protest only to be stopped when two almost inaudible pops were emitted by Steen's pistol. Colton hadn't seen Steen fit the silencer, but was glad the doctor had thought of it. And with a remarkable precision, each of the bullets smashed into one of the intruder's exposed necks, the explosion of the ceramic bullets tearing their heads apart in complete silence. The clatter of their armor wasn't nearly as silent. Steen recoiled at the noise. Colton raised his rifle expecting more of the men to pour out of the room.

"Yo! Clumsy," came a voice from inside the room, "watch where your going!"

A hearty round of chuckling came from the room. Colton looked at Steen, who shrugged. Talk about your lucky breaks. Steen broke to the far wall, edging along it until he was right beside the door while Colton kept his rifle trained at the opening. Steen nodded and Colton edged down his side of the hallway until he could just see the wall inside the door frame. Colton gestured for Steen to kneel down and fire low. Steen nodded acknowledgment and held up 5 fingers, slowly putting one down approximately each second. Colton braced himself, and when Steen was down to just one finger, launched himself across the hallway to the far side of the door frame and started firing at the men in the room. Beside him, Steen dropped to one knee.

Colton counted at least 15 sets of orange armor in the room. He had long since stopped thinking of enemies as people, just colored targets of one nature or another that had a human like form. Most of his bullets were glancing off armor or, on those faster to react to their arrival, riot shields, presuming that's what they were. Steen by comparison was firing for effect. Aiming carefully and plugging each shot into a seam in the armor, each hit resulting in a spray of fine red mist, a disturbing byproduct of the ceramic shells. Between the two of them five were down before he had to duck back to reload. Steen with his hunt and peck was still covering him when he poked the rifle back in. Another couple went down, still leaving them with...nine. Roughly.

One of the armored intruders pulled a grenade off his chest, and Colton threw himself on top of Steen, knocking them away from the doorway just as the grenade came flying through. Steen pushed him off and dove for the the grenade.

"Are you crazy?"

Steen ignored him, batting the grenade backhanded off the floor and back through the door, at which point it promptly exploded.

"That was still crazy."

"The average grenade has an 8 second fuze," explained Steen as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I hit it when it was at five."

"Your still crazy."

"That's what my wife always says," grinned Steed.

A single intruder stumbled out of the door, orange armor darkened from fire. Steen put his pistol to his kneecap just beneath the blue armor and pulled the triger. Colton flinched as red mist sprayed him as the man's lower leg disintegrated in a spray of blood, muscle and bone.

"Hold him," Steen said and strode into the still smoky morgue.

Colton thought to protest, but seeing the man reaching for a pistol holstered on his back, Colton had no choice but to jump him. He had to disarm the man of another three pistols, two grenades and two knives before he was finally able to subdue him. Whoever he was.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Cleanup."

Only then did Colton realize that the pops he'd been hearing must have been Steen making sure those inside were dead.

"Don't kill them, they could be useful."

"No point, you have the commander."

"How the hell could you know that?"

"The Sargent's stripes on his arm," Steen poked his head out the door, "You know, the one two inches from your face."

Steen disappeared inside, emerging a minute later with a syringe, vial and telephone. He placed the phone on the floor beside Colton, and filled the syringe with whatever was in the bottle. The entire contents of the needle was promptly emptied into the sergeant's neck, who equally promptly went totally limp.

"We still could have interrogated the rest of them."

"All of them would have bled out in the next 8 hours. All we'd have wound up doing is treating them in time for them to die. Sarge here was the only one who would have made it."

Colton grimaced, but couldn't fault the man's logic. Like it or not. He sighed and picked up the receiver, now relieved of pinning down the armed intruder.

"Security, I need a detail down at the morgue, stat. And EMS and Fire."

Steen was tying some medical tubing just above the stump, thankfully cutting off the flow. Might as well, Colton thought, there was no way they were saving that leg anyway.

"I want in."

Colton frowned, "excuse me?"

"You said you wanted a medic."

"Well sure we'd be-"

"Two conditions. One: I'm on the command staff, and I don't mean a lieutenant. Your CMO is going to need to know what's going on, at all times. Two: my wife comes with me. Your going to need engineers and IT staff, and there's none better."

Colton didn't bother hesitating. "Done and done. You need a codename though..."

Code Name: Lifeline  
File Name: Edwin Steen  
Birthplace: Calgary, Alberta  
Rank: O-6  
Primary Military Specialty: Surgeon  
Secondary Military Specialty: Medic


	4. 05 15 2031 Chuckles

**05/15/2031 - Chuckles (Part 1)  
**  
Philip M. Provost walked through the winter streets of Calgary. A city that still housed the offices of most of Canada's big oil companies, even as alternative energy began to take hold, sometimes with their offices just across the street. The Bow Building, the largest office tower in western Canada when it was built, housed Canada's largest oil and gas companies, was now across the street from an even larger company that provided simple in-home hydro-power generators, perhaps the biggest coup in clean energy. A simple engine the size of a dresser that powered itself and just about anything else in a home. Larger commercial versions now sat in the basements of, and powered most of the buildings he passed, making the old power grids obsolete.

But much though the emerging world power hub interested him to take a closer look at, he only had a couple hours before he would be missed, and he had to talk to someone about this. It had been at least 10 years, probably close to 15 since he'd last talked to Edwin, but if anyone in this city could help, he'd be the only one. In front of the Bank of Montreal, Philip paused, looking at the church in the next block. It hadn't been hard to find out that Edwin still volunteered to help out there. Despite the fact he could have bought his own Caribbean Island and disappeared, he still worked at the hospital every day and volunteered in the community every weekend. Real freaking bleeding heart that one.

Philip shook his head. That was uncharitable, much though he had never really liked Edwin, he had to respect what he'd accomplished. Mind you, he thought, it didn't hurt that he was the only person Philip knew with the connections to get him out of this mess. Slipping across the streets between floods of cars, he walked up the steps to the church and entered the vestibule. He had no idea where to look for Edwin, or if he'd even still be here. It was almost 5:00pm after all.

An elderly couple strolled out of the sanctuary, giving him barely a glance as they headed out into the crisp spring air. Philip smirked a little, global warming was devastating the tropics, but up here, it was cold as hell. Well, or the opposite of hell...whatever. He shook his head, he needed to find edwin, he didn't have time for idle thoughts. Glancing left and right, he walked through the inner doors to the scantuary and looked around. The pews were all empty, and though the scantuary was brightly lit, no one appeared to be around.

"Great. Just great, the once chance I get at this and he's not even freaking here."

As if in answer to his frustration, a door just to the right of the choir loft opened, and a man in a suit walked out just throwing on a duffel coat. Without even seeing his face, Philip recognized the coat from dozens of pictures. Edwin may be rich and brilliant, but like any man, he didn't see the need to bother with some giant wardrobe, wearing the same thing so long as it was clean (or at least close enough) and intact (again, or at least close enough).

Philip cut through the pews, and headed for Edwin, not wanting to raise his voice. He was fairly sure he hadn't been followed, but then again, if he had been, he'd never know. The last guy who'd tried to run had had a quite unpleasant run-in with a certain white-robed ninja. Philip shuddered at the memory of the eviscerated carcass on display for the ensuing weeks.

Edwin had his head down, consulting something on a blackberry and almost ran into Philip on his way out, "Oh, I'm sorry, I was ju...Philip?"

Skepticism quickly flashed across Edwin's face. Here was a man with no love lost on his former high school classmates, not that Philip blamed him given the hell they'd put him through. Ironic wasn't it? In school, everyone makes fun of the nerds, and they're the ones who wind up running the world.

"I need your help Edwin."

"If its a procedure, you book through the hospital. If you need help cheating on a test, screw off, though I expect you might be a bit too old for that. If you wan't to appologize for the past, screw yourself. If its anything else, see a shrink."

Philip was pretty sure the only reason Edwin hadn't spit in his face was because he had too much class for that. So much for the pleasantries. He had only one card left to play.

"I know who's responsible for the terrorist attacks on the 21st."

Edwin didn't laugh. Big surprise. Just raised an eyebrow. "Sure you do. Next your going to tell me your the one who engineered the bombs."

Philip winced, he had in fact done some of the work on those. He wished he could change that but he couldn't. "Please Edwin, you've got to believe me. Would I have come here to talk to you about this if I was lying?"

Edwin paused, clearly evaluating Philip's claim. Well damn him, if he couldn't see that Philip was desprate, he'd just have to make him believe. This could change the future of the free world.

"You'd better have something to prove this."

In response, Philip turned and raised his left earlobe exposing the snake tattoo there. The same one found on every terrorist's body from the April 21st attacks.

"You were one of the surgeons who examined the bodies. I know you know what this means."

"You could have copied it."

"Your team released altered pictures. No one could match this based off those. You could see the difference in an instant."

Edwin nodded, but didn't look particularly mollified. "Fine, I'll hear you out."

Philip moved aside so Edwin could lead the way, but Edwin made no movement.

"Not here, anyone could hear."

"If your pulling my l-"

"Please, just LISTEN to me for Christ's sake!"

"This way," Edwin replied, leading the way back through the door he'd just recently exited, closing it behind them, then down a flight of stairs and through a small wooden door. Based on the stone walls, they were now in a small storage room built into the foundation of the church, cramed with microphone stands, music stands, and a bunch of other stuff Philip couldn't identify in the half-light permitted by the frosted glass panel in the door.

"You have 5 minutes to convince me. After that," Edwin said, producing a pistol, and silence from somewhere under his coat, "I'm taking you in."

Philip gulped in a breath of air as Edwin fit the silencer without looking. "You have a license for that?"

"You'd be amazed what you can get a license for when your surgery saves the life of the Prime Minister's son. Four minutes, forty seconds."

Well, the man was still a human clock it appeared. Philip plunged right in. "You remember the Cold Fusion lab that Dallas and I worked on in Ontario? Well right after the disaster, I was stripped of any qualifications to practice engineering in any country, and lost everything."

"This was all in the news, tick tock."

Clearly Edwin still wasn't taking him seriously. "Shortly thereafter, while I was living in a halfway house, I was approached by a man-"

"Who?"

"A MAN who called himself "The Commander" who promised me a way to get back at the megacorporations and governments that had thwarted my project. He knew everything about me. He said he was building an organization and needed my help with some logistics. He offered me a position at the top if I'd join. I had nothing left, I listened to him, I believed him. We spent the next five years-"

"When was this?"

"Just over five years ago. As I said, we spent the next five years building up the organization with some help from others. Even when he recruited me he had a thousands of followers, they were from everywhere. I didn't find out about them until over a year after I joined him. By then, I think I'd earned his trust. He had me start working on explosives, with some Scottish nut-job named Destro. He's like someone out of Star Trek, crazy ideas you'd never think would work. Teleportation, laser pistols and the like."

"Look," Philip said, producing a small journal, "Everything I know is in this journal, or on these CDs. I wanted to come in after we tested the bombs, but I ne-"

"Tested?"

"Yeah, on a small village in the Sudan. Killed a few hundred women and children. CHILDREN! That's not what I signed up for. Enlightening the people? Getting government out of bed with big business? Yeah. Wholesale slaughter and terrorism? No!"

Edwin took the book and flipped through it. Nothing registered on his face. "What's this drawing on the first page?" he asked, pointing to a 6 surrounded in coiled lines.

"Sorry, that's unimportant, just drew it. It was the symbol on the reactor that blew."

"Sigma 6 right?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Could your replicate that drawing again?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because your going back."

"What the hell? I want no part of this."

Edwin sneered. Something he did quite well when addressing those he felt to be inferior. "Your the only person who's ever gotten away form them alive right? If I don't miss my guess, you were here doing some business for them, and the only reason you've gotten a chance to meet with me is because you have a sight-seeing break. Right?" He pushed on, not waiting for confirmation. "That means that in a very short period of time, they're going to notice your gone, and they're going to kill you. If your notes about these 'shadow vipers' are the truth, you have about another 15 minutes to get back into the open. You don't know, or at least your journal makes it look like you don't know how deeply some governments are infiltrated, but all the terrorists we got alive were killed within 12 hours of capture with no evidence. Clearly this organization is in a lot deeper than you think. Right now, your the only link anyone has to the inside, so we need you to go back in, and find out what you can. When you can, get a book with this symbol on the front page together and mail it to me. Make sure you don't get any fingerprints or anything else on it. I'll make sure it gets into the right hands. Once someone gets an infiltration agent into the organization, they'll get you out. But until then, your immeasurably valuable."

"But if they catch me, they'll kill me."

"Then don't get caught." Edwin made this sound as simple as taking a stroll through the park. "Now get out of here before they realize your gone."

Edwin tucked the pistol and journal inside his coat and they headed out the door, Edwin taking the lead up the stairs. A janitor was just coming down.

"Oh, excuse me sir."

"No problem." Edwin replied as he passed.

Edwin had no sooner passed the janitor than a pistol appeared in the man's hand.

Crud, though Philip, this really is my day for getting shot at isn't it.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the gunshot that would end his life, but none came. Instead, a strangled cry followed by a crunching sound and gurgling. Philip dared to open one eye, and saw that Edwin had turned around and thrust a pocket knife through the man's carotid artery, no doubt the cause of the strangling cry, and draged it through his trachea resulting in the crunching and the other carotid. His other hand was pressing an already blood soaked pocket puff to the man's throat. Trust the surgeon, Philip thought, to know how to cut a man's throat.

"Belt."

"What?"

"Give me your belt laughing boy, I need a turnkey to stem the blood flow or its getting all over the floor."

"You just killed him. IN A CHURCH!"

"Would you prefer that I'd let him kill you, you ungrateful bastard? Give me the belt!" Edwin hissed.

Philip tore it off as fast as he could and handed it to Edwin, who promptly looped it around the man's neck and pulled it taught. More crunching emerged as the trachea was crushed, but Philip was fairly sure the man was quite dead by now.

"Get his pants off."

Philip didn't bother asking again, knowing this would just engender further scorn. He pulled off the man's shoes, followed by his overly tight jeans.

"Wrap them around his neck. That will catch the rest of the blood as it drains from his head."

Philip complied, and tied them off.

"Ok," Edwin said, carefully withdrawing his hand from the man's neck, "Help me put him in the storage room, and get out of here." I'll get this blood washed off, then I'll deal with corpse-boy."

The body was quickly hauled into the storage room and locked in. Philip chuckled with nervous laughter. "Thank you."

"Ok laughing boy. You have a job to do. Get back there, and keep taking notes. Get them to me when you can. Consider yourself drafted."

"Your not the army."

"No, but I know someone who is, and they'll deal with the paperwork. I'll get this journal to the right people, and keep up contact with you. Just make sure your stuff is marked with that sigma-6 logo so I know its you."

"Could we use something else? That could be tied to me a bit too easily."

"Well, what do you know Philip, you have a brain afterall."

"Need I remind you-"

"Lets get something strait Philip, I know your a good engineer, and a good person. I just don't like you. Your useful to me, and to the world right now, so I'll work with you. But that's only because your useful. Got it?"

"Got it."

"You have a code-word you'd like to use instead of the sigma-6 thing?"

"Yeah, Chuckles."

"Do I want to know?"

"More importantly Edwin, its none of your business." Philip retorted and stormed out.

Great, thought Philip as he strode out of the church. I have to deal with that pain in the ass again. I should have just gone to the government, at least they're professional about stuff. Still, prick or not, I have what I came for. Contact.

He pulled out a crumpled photograph from his pocket. Three faces stared out at him, his wife and his kids. He hadn't decided to defect when they tested the bomb, far from it, he'd reveled in its use and the plans for the 21st. But the Commander had lied to him. He'd begged to be able to meet his family in New York after the attacks and bring them with him. The Commander had agreed, telling him to have them wait at the Statue of Liberty. He'd never bothered to mention that the statue was on the list of targets for bombing. When Philip had found out about it, he'd stormed into the commander's office with every intention to hill him. Storm Shadow had stopped him in an instant, and the commander had reminded him that as a member of Cobra, he didn't need attachments to decadent western society. To get out alive, Philip had agreed, but had plotted his revenge. And now he had an avenue to do it. With Cobra he would stike back at the countries and corporations that ruined his life. But he'd pass just enough information back to the good, ever-so-trusting Dr. Edwin Steen to appear that he was working for the new UN organization that was being formed to track down Cobra. Just enough so that when they brought down the Commander that he'd have clemency.

The best of both worlds.

Code Name: Chuckles  
File Name:Philip M. Provost  
Birthplace: Calgary, Alberta  
Rank: N/A  
Primary Military Specialty: Infiltration  
Secondary Military Specialty: Engineering


	5. 05 16 2031 Day at the Terrordrome NEW

**05/16/2031 - Day at the Terrordrome**

Chuckles stood at attention behind Cobra Commander's throne, staring down from the dias at the assembled Cobra High Command. It was a varried lot, and seemed to get stranger each time the Commander added a new member. When he'd joined, it had been strange enough to see the Aussi mercenary and British Baroness around, but guys like Tomax and Xamot, or Raptor were positively offputting. And of course, there was Mindbender's unfortunate habit of forgetting to wear a shirt. How someone so brilliant could be so forgetful was beyond him.

But today's assembly was focused around Bludd, or rather, Bludd's Alley Viper's failure to retrieve the bodies of the fallen Cobra Troopers being held in the UN building in New York. Chuckles himself had met with Dr. Steen only yesterday, and had barely made it back to the terrordrome in time for this event, but Edwin hadn't seen fit to mention that he'd had a run in with them there. Apparently he and a General Joseph Colton had managed to take out an entire squad or Bludd's best men. While the troopers were expendable, Bludd wasn't, so the Commander had decided that a public punishment and humiliation was in order. A line of Blueshirts flanked the outside of the room where squads of Vipers would normally stand, removing any chance of interference from Bludd's own troops should he have gotten wind of the purpose of the day's proceedings.

On the Commander's other side stood Scarface, who had provided the best blueshirts under his command, and Scalpel, whose medical sercives would soon be required. The rest of the command was arrayed on either side of a red carpet stretching down the length of the room, and had arrived ten minutes previously. Bludd would be arriving shortly, at the somewhat later time he had been told to arrive. Other than the four men stationed on the dias, no one in the room knew what was going on. Chuckles had a feeling that Mindbender suspected, as he'd remembered to wear a lab-coat to this gathering, and had had to leave a bag of instruments with him at the door.

A quiet murmor of conversation pervaded the background of the hall, Chuckles was fairly sure that those assembled were pumping each other for information about what was happening, and perhaps one or two had noticed Bludd's absence. Not that it mattered, they wouldn't learn anything from each other. Chuckles knew he was in a priviledged position; Cobra Commanderkept only few soldiers in his confidence regularly, often only Ghost, the commander of the Cobra Sniper Corps, and Scarface, commander of the Blueshirts, knew what was going on. Scalpel had been brought in to confidence today so that Bludd wouldn't die from his punishment, but usually he was near the bottom of the ladder for knowing what was going on. He was just a doctor afterall, all he had to do was patch 'em up or slab 'em as the situation required.

The far door to the throneroom opened, and Major Bludd strode confidently in. His facade wavered as he saw the rest of the high command already waiting in line through the length of the chamber. Conversation died instantly upon his arrival, and Chuckles couldn't help but smirk behind his facemask.

"My appologies for my tardiness Commander," stumbled Major Bludd, "I must have-"

"Your inability to arrive when required is the least of your problems Bludd," hissed the Commander in a deep bass, "approach."

Even at this distance, Chuckles could see Bludd swallow deeply. Good, fear would get his blood pumping, no pun intended, and that would make for the better spectacle to the rest of the Cobra High Command.

Major Bludd walked slowly towards the dias, fear beginning to line his forhead. He stopped ten paces away before being beaconed closer by the Commander. He approaced within five steps, then two, then was finally stopped when barely more than an arms length away. His good eye flicked everywhere around the room except at Cobra Commander.

"You have failed me Major Bludd," the Commander hissed, his voice soft and menacing, but loud enough in the still room to carry to every person standing there. "Your Alley Vipers were to retrieve the bodies held at the United Nations, but they _failed._ And hence, _you_ have failed me."

"But my lord, there was no way-"

The Commander didn't provide Bludd with the opportunity to furnish whatever excuse he had been prepared to give, instead in one quick motion he rose from his seat, and drew his sword from his side. A moment's horror registered on Bludd's face before the sword cleaved through flesh and bone a few inches below Bludd's right shoulder. His scream shattered the room's silence. Blood sprayed from the wound, splattering Wild Weasel, Mindbender, and Vypra. Bludd fell backwards down the small set of stairs his head cracking on the floor as he landed. No one in the room dared to move as the commander picked up Bludd's severed arm and wiped the blood from the blade of his sword. He sheathed his sword, tossed the arm after Bludd and sat back down. To his credit, beyond his initial wail, Bludd managed to keep more or less quiet, his breath hissing irregularly between his teeth.

After a moment, the Commander snapped his fingers and Scalpel walked slowly down the stairs, and knelt beside Bludd, tying a tourniquet around the stump of his arm. Before pulling it tight, he turned to the Commander and asked, "do you want me to reattach the arm?"

Of course, Scalpel already knew the answer, but the question was for dramatic effect.

"No. Burn it. I'm sure you have a workable prosthetic for it. I want him to remember his failure."

"Of course sir," Scalpel tied the turniquet, probably tighter than need be, and stood, hauling Bludd to his feet by the injured stump, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. The two departed the room in complete silence.

"Ghost, Scarface I wish to speak with you. The rest of you are dismissed."

The room emptied at a rate just short of that seen during a stampeed.

-

Stoner thanked his lucky stars that he'd been standing close to the door during that debacle. It seemed that the Commander had finally gotten sick of Bludd's bumbling missions, perhaps now he would recognize Stoner's superior intellect and charisma. _His_ SAW Vipers had never failed in a mission, and so long as he was in command they wouldn't, but despite the efforts of the various unit commanders for the other Viper legions, Bludd's incompetence led them to disaster after disaster. Of course, what could be expected from someone kicked out of the _Australian_ military for incompetence? How Bludd had survived as a mercenary for all those years before Cobra recruited him was completely beyond comprehension.

Still, Stoner found himself hurring after the accursed major, mostly out of morbid curriosity to see what Scalpel would be attaching in place of an arm. Given the work he'd done on Cesspool's facial reconstruction and Overkill's whole-body makeover, or whatever you wanted to call it, this should be a rahter interesting procedure to observe. Watching the major suffer would simply be a bonus.

He caught up with Scalpel and Bludd just as they were entering the infirmary. Bludd was in the process of begging Scalpel not to incinerate his arm, but to no avail. As soon as they were through the door, Scalpel tossed it in a biohazard bag and shoved the bag down the incineration chute. Stoner was fairly certain he saw tears in Bludd's eyes as the flap to the chute slapped shut.

"Ah good. Stoner," Scalpel noticed his friend's arrival, "would you kindly strap the good Major down to the table? I need to gather some of my instruments for this."

"Of course Scalps," Stoner grinned. His hatred for Bludd was no secret from Scalpel, they'd been friends since childhood, and he knew that Scalpel knew that he would quite enjoy restraining the major - perhaps a bit more securely than was really warented. Of course, that was just good sense. Everyone knew that Scalpel didn't waste his limited medical budget on luxaries - like anesthetics.

"Now take a seat here and make yourself comfortable," he mocked.

Bludd gave him his attempt at an evil glare, which came across more like the tearful gaze of a wounded animal. Stoner chuckled to himself and forced the major down onto the bed, quickly securing him at the ankles, thighs, wrists - or wrist in this case, bicep, and forhead. The straps could perhaps have been a bit looser, but Stoner didn't want him thrashing around while Scalpel tried to work.

"All ready Scalps."

"Good, good. I'm sorry for your loss major, but not that sorry. You see, I've been wanting to try attaching this mechanical arm that Hotwire developed for a few weeks now, and your the first candiate to walk through my morgue...I mean door."

"Funny," grunted Bludd.

"Well, _I_ thought so," Scalpel replied huffily. One did not ignore Scalpel's attempts at humour, no matter how poor his jokes may be. Least of all if they were on the table.

"Ah well, looks like we'll have to cut off another inch or so," Scalpel announced, examining the stump, "the Commander's sword left a bit too raged of a stump for this to work properly." He flipped the bonesaw on his right wrist down into working possition and it began to spin. Bludd's eyes widened as the whiring blade began slicing through flesh, muscle and blood just above where Scalpel had placed the tourniquet.

"You see," scalpel explained, perfectly calmly, "if the bone doesn't have a flat end, I can't attach the prosthetic properly. And I have to tie the wire leads into your nerves. Then of course, there's the blood vessles that I have to redirect. All in all, this is going to take a few hours."

"You mother fuck-..."

-

The door to Cobra Commanders inner scanctum closed with a hiss. Of course, some designeer had thought it appropriately ironic that every door in the Terrordrome close with a hiss. Scarface wished he could get his hands around that man's neck. However, right now he had more important things to focus on. The Commander had ordered him and Ghost to attend him, doubtless for some special assignment. Scar Face made no secret of the fact that he didn't like Ghost. He wore the uniform of a Cobra Blackshirt sniper, but had no affiliation with the unit, even before Blackout had joined Cobra and been put in command. No one knew who Ghost was, or when he'd met the Commander, or why he was involved in Cobra. All anyone knew was that he was the Commander's closest confidant, and the closest thing he had to a friend.

Admittedly, some of Scar Face's dislike for the man was due to the fact that he was the only member of the Cobra organization closer to the Commander than Scar Face was. Cobra had only been three or four years old as an organization when Scar Face had joined and quickly proven his loyalty to the Commander, but even then Ghost had had his ear, and been the second in command. In all his time, Scar Face had never truely been convinced of Ghost's loyalty, and had tried on more than one occasion to find some way to supplant him, but had yet to suceed. He had no doubt that Ghost regularly looked at removing him also. At least they understood each other that much.

The commander took a seat behind his desk, but did not act to remove his ceremonial cowl. He rarely did anymore. When Cobra had been young, Scar Face could remember dozens of times when it had come off, at least for a few moments in private with his two most trusted advisors, but now, even in the privacy of the central scantum of the Terrordrome, none of the trhee men would bare their faces.

As usual, the Commander wasted no time in pre-amble, "You two will organize an operation using the Blueshirts, and operatives of Ghost's choosing to infiltrate the White House. We need a mole in there to prevent further debacles like the one that Bludd let his men walk into."

"Sir," Ghost had the audacity to question the Commander, "are you certain that the Americans were responsible? The UN security forces are drawn from several countries."

"I'm certain it was the Americans," replied the Commander calmly. Had anyone other than the two in the room questioned him, Scar Face knew that the life expectancy of said questioner would be reduced to zero. "General Joseph Colton was the one responsible, and I have no doubt that the Americans are assembling a group to counter us. We won't allow them to succeed. You two have your orders. I want a man in the White House in two months. That is all." 


	6. 06 12 2031 Snake Eyes NEW

**06/12/2021 - Snake Eyes**

Arashikage West Dojo - Calgary, Alberta, Canada

A man, dressed in black, known by most only as "Snake Eyes", sat cross legged on a hardwood floor strewn with sawdust. He was a trained ninja master, and former special operations commando. He had served in the Chino-Korean War with a team inserted deep behind enemy lines for five years, and had been critically wounded two days before the final ceasefire. Several of his party had been killed in the same helicopter crash, but one of his fellow survivors had brought him to Japan where his family, heads of the Arashikage Clan, had healed his physical and mental wounds. He had spent almost a decade training under them, and now he trained the next generation of ninjas in the tradition of the clan that had adopted him. Many served in the armed forces of various nations around the world, where they could quietly serve humanity without the secrecy usually attached to their clan. Others chose to serve in their own way, but so long as they possessed the right temperament and mindset, Snake Eyes followed the clan's tradition and turned none away.

The dojo was empty at this hour, most in the city would be wrapping up their morning activities in preparation for lunch, and Snake Eyes found that was often the perfect time to meditate and clear his mind. That was not to be the case today. A quiet knock came at the side door, but it did not disturb the master. Though hundreds of thousands of people passed less than two hundred meters from the door every day, no more than a dozen ever gave it more than a cursory glance. The knock was a courtesy, rather than a necessity. The door was always open, the owner had no fear of buglers, and students were instructed to come and go as they pleased.

The door opened and a young blond woman entered. She was one of his newest students, but had volunteered to help with the office jobs required to run the Dojo since Snake Eyes was unable. Unfortunately, she was not nearly as competent in her training as she was in her administrative duties, but Snake Eyes was still glad to have her assistance.

"Master," she bowed deeply, "a letter arrived for you by courier just now, the man told me it was urgent. I wouldn't have bothered you, but he was quite insistent."

Snake Eyes extended a hand, his concentration was already broken, so he might as well read it now before returning to his meditation. A quick glance through the contents of the letter certainly got his attention, and a second, more detailed, read and he was moving towards the armory.

"Master?" queried the student.

Snake Eyes made a hand gesture indicating that he was going out, and a second to cancel classes for the remainder of the day.

"Yes master." She sounded confused, but did not ask any questions, another of her qualities that he valued. He spun the dial on the combination lock and opened the door to reveal a room stocked with weapons. His student had disappeared, allowing him to freely unwrap his mask and replace it with the one he wore into battle. He clicked the visor into place over his eyes, and after closing the door slightly disrobed and donned his battle gear: black, microarmor shirt and pants, steel-reinforced combat boots, black assault gloves. He removed his favorite katana from its place on the wall and attached its sheeth to a backpack already loaded with other instruments. He slid his wrist-launcher onto his left hand, and slung a light rifle over his shoulder. For insurance, he grabbed his faithful uzi and its silencer from the wall. He threw an over-sized black trench coat over the ensemble to disguise himself. Nodding, he left the room and locked the door. He left through another exit at the back of the dojo. His student had never seen him like this, and he didn't think now was a good time for her to.

He opened the door to the mini-garage by hand, and light fell on a black Harley Davidson, the one of the few things that remained of his old life. He pushed it out of the garage and closed it behind him before starting the engine. A freight train was just rumbling by on the tracks between him and the river. He shrugged and started the motor cycle, rumbling between buildings and around the radio-mast onto Tenth Avenue, swinging underneath the bridge overhead. Hundreds of cars roared overhead making the turn in or out of downtown, or simply following Crowchild Trial north and south to whatever their business was for the day. Most people took the Ninth Avenue turn into downtown, even now that it was congested from construction of the West Village, so traffic was light, especially at this time of day. A Light Rail Transit train rumbled overhead on its passage into downtown as snake eyes's ran a red light into downtown. Back when he'd first started the Dojo, Tenth had been mostly lined with light industry and mechanical businesses, but the increased traffic pouring out of the LRT Station had turned it into an upscale retail district. However, at before noon it wasn't particularly busy, and it had the added advantage of avoiding the interminable construction of the West Village sandwiched between the Trans-Canada rail tracks and the river. When the development had been proposed 20some years ago, it had sounded like a great idea, but the companies that had eventually taken the contract to do it were taking their sweet time finishing it.

He arrived at the Fourteenth Avenue intersection. Technically he was legally required to turn right and couldn't continue east, but he headed straight into the cross-wise traffic and bounced the bike over the concrete median and up the other side. An SUV almost slammed into him from the right and laid on the horn, but he ignored it. He pushed the bike to its maximum down the stretch of Tenth. Thankfully the lights at the intersections of Eleventh - he really needed to pick up groceries at the Co-Op this afternoon - Tenth, Ninth and Eighth were green when he went blasting through, breaking about three dozen traffic laws. He was forced to run yellows and reds on Seventh, Sixth and Fifth, and made an illegal left turn north in front of oncoming traffic on Fourth Street. He sped through the underpass under the rail lines, but stalled at the top of the ramp at the intersection with Ninth Avenue. Not even he was willing to risk running a red there. He waited a minute until it changed, then blasted past the other cars up to Eighth - Steven Avenue. Holt Renfrew's facade decorated the northwest corner of the intersection, forming the western anchor tenant of the downtown shopping mall. The mall covered five blocks east to west in the center of downtown, and was a mixture of mid-1980s office tower podiums, or complete renovations inside facades first built in the 1920s. The Hudson's Bay store on the east end still occupied the store it had built back in 1911.

Most of the complex had been re-roofed 20 years ago with what was apparently the largest continuous skylight in the world, which was of course a problem, the letter had said his opponent would be using it to access the building. Which meant that Snake Eyes had to get to the roof without being arrested. Easier said than done. These days the police patrolled the downtown streets regularly, and while their black cowboy hats made them noticeable, Snake Eyes was pretty sure that if he attempted to scale the outside of the building, he'd be equally noticeable. Of course, he couldn't just wander around inside the mall either and draw attention to himself. He paused to consider his options, there weren't many. Unfortunately all the office towers in the area were long established so there was no construction site to sneak through. The nearest open-air parkade was across from the Bay at the other end of the mall, and even at that, he'd have to sneak across one of the pedestrian walkways three stories up and then climb another level to the roof. Well, one did what one must. He restarted the motorcycle, and pushed it down the center of the street, his teeth jarring as he bounced over the inlaid brick. A couple of police were approaching a block away their black cowboy hats giving them away, but Snake Eyes was well around the corner before they could catch glimpse of him. He bounced over the C-train tracks on Seventh Avenue, and then spun a hard right on Sixth, going down the three blocks until he could reach the parkade for the Bay.

He had to pause on the way up to the fifth floor to get a ticket from the electronic wicket but eventually stopped in a motorcycle-only spot overlooking the roof of the Plus-30 pedway that connected the parkade to the store. Turning off the motorcycle and activating its security system, he used his other hand to pull a pair of wire snips from his pocket and used them to cut three sides of a square hole into the mesh fencing that covered the wide of the parkade wall. The backpack made it a tight squeeze, but he made it through and replaced the mesh so only the closest inspection would reveal the damage. Across the street on the roof of the building, he could hear laughter. Damn, he'd forgotten about the roof-top patio that was open in the summer for one of the restaurants. This would make things somewhat difficult. Still, there was no way around it, so he just had to be quick about it.

A fiber-glass cable with a small grappling hook brought him up to the level of the roof, and he carefully rolled over the edge, making sure to keep his body lower than the four-foot wall that surrounded the diners on the roof. Thankfully it was close enough to the edge that it would be impossible to see him, or so he thought. A loud cry of 'WAITER!' froze him mid-crawl. How had he miscalculated? Oh, the guy just wanted his bill. Bloody Yankee tourist. Snake Eyes continued along the edge until he reached the corner. He was now hidden from the diners by a bunch of protruding utilities towards this end of the roof. He hurried in a crouch along the roof of another pedway connecting this portion of the mall to the next block and arrived at the vertical bank of windows that opened onto the fourth floor, indoor, Devonian Gardens. Thankfully a grove of trees blocked him from the view of anyone inside, and another quick scramble brought him to the roof of the main shopping center. Two business towers stood at opposite corners of this block, and potentially thousands stared down at him. Of course, even more from the surrounding blocks had probably been able to see him thus far, so if his cover was going to be blown, it likely already was. The arched skylight lay ahead. The Toronto Dominion Bank tower on the right blocked access to the north side of the skylight, so he headed left, hoping that it was the south side that would be the point of entry.

Snake Eyes had just rounded the corner when he saw his quarry drop through a hole cut into the glass onto the overhanging indoor roof inside. A slight curve of the roof on the fourth floor jutted out beneath the skylight to conceal some of the mechanical of the building, and here, this close to the east end of the skylight, the sprinkler system that fed the plants of the Devonian Gardens. Snake Eyes cursed, mentally anyway, and followed through the hole. for a minute his coat snagged on a jagged piece of glass, and then he fell through. Their entrance hadn't gone unnoticed. Patrons on the far side of the gardens were pointing and talking loudly, and the commotion was spreading through the mall in all directions. That of course, just made his job more difficult. He turned left and began running along the overhang behind his quarry. He was headed towards the West end, currently over the food court and moving towards the upper-end retail at the west that occupied two-level storefronts on the third floor.

Snake Eyes wished he could yell after his opponent, distract him for an instant, but it was a long time since he'd been able to say anything, and his opponent knew that. Instead, he drew his pistol and fired a single warning shot towards his feet, but the man in front of him lept off the ledge the instant before the bullet struck, almost as if he had known it had been coming, and bounced nimbly off the top of the exposed elevator rails that clung to the side of the concourse and into the food court. Snake Eyes followed, but dropped directly to the floor beneath the ledge arresting his momentum in case he was being trapped.

Far from it, his opponent was half-way towards the windows and drawing his sword, patrons were now running and screaming, but thankfully, his appearance caused them to give him space. Snake Eyes quickly realized that crossing the floor in the stream of patrons would be impossible, so he decided to take another route, jumping onto the surface of one table and then using them as stepping stones as he vaulted over patron's heads through the crowded space. In front of him, he finally caught glimpse of his opponent's target, two men still sitting at a table beside the window. Both had guns drawn and both were instantly recognizable - Dr. Edwin Steen, business magnate and surgeon, and General Clayton Abernathy, hero of Beijing and the brains behind several of the more successful campaigns in the Chino-Korean War. An odd pair, but clearly Tommy Arashikage, Snake Eyes' former sword brother, was after one of them. Their weapons would do them no good, and Snake Eyes had a feeling that neither would attempt to fire with the mass of civilians in the area. He had gained on Tommy who had to fight his way through the crowds, and as he raised his sword to cut at Abernathy, Snake Eyes was able, with a final desperate leap, to interpose himself between the two, Tommy's blade catching on his own. The clan hexagrams inscribed on each blade met edge to edge in a frozen tableau for a half a second.

"Brother," Tommy sounded resentful and surprised, "you shouldn't have interfered. Now I will have to kill you."

His sword withdrew quickly, catching the pistol in Abernathy's hand, knocking it free and causing it to discharge harmlessly into a marble tiled wall when it hit the floor. The riposte was almost to quick to block. Almost. But Snake Eyes had practiced daily with the best of his students, often three at a time, and his edge was as sharp as it had been when the two trained in Japan. He may be no match for Tommy at the bow, or in deception, but he was more than his equal when it came to the blade.

The two whirled, thrusting and parrying, neither taking more than a few feet nor yielding it. Snake Eyes noted Abernathy grab his gun from the floor and holster it. Steen leaned back in his chair and appeared to be watching with a critical interest. Odd.

Snake Eyes' musing on the two distracted him for an instant, just long enough for Tommy to land a sharp kick to his stomach, sending Snake Eyes into a back flip which paralleled Tomy's own over the counter into a restaurant, Thai Express. He'd barely landed before Tommy grabbed a handle of a wok sitting over a flame and hurled the contents at his head. Snake Eyes dodged, and heard the noodles slap against the wall behind him. Tommy used the brief hesitation to make a run for more open ground through the food court back to the main concourse. He left Snake Eyes with no choice but to give chase.

Snake Eyes didn't know what Tommy had been up to for the last few years, having lost contact after they both left Japan following their training, but the Tommy he knew would never have tried to assassinate someone in cold blood. He knew that after he subdued Tommy he would have to get in contact with the Hard Master and book tickets to Japan, something was unquestionably wrong, and he didn't know what. Tommy turned when he reached one of the projections flanking the elevator and readied himself to meet Snake Eyes' assault. It took only a second for Snake Eyes to realize that Tommy had the advantage, having already gained the open ground. He was forcing Snake Eyes to react rather than act, instantly gaining the advantage in combat. Only a few seconds remained for Snake Eyes to take back the initiative in this duel.

He stopped, drawing his Uzi from beneath his jacket. Even at a distance of twenty paces, he could see Tommy's eyes widen when he pulled the trigger. He'd known that Tommy was fast enough to dodge the spray of bullets that now sailed through the empty space where Tommy had stood and shattered the glass safety wall on the far concourse, but it had forced Tommy to give up his position, and Snake Eyes gave chace. Casting around, Snake Eyes could see Tommy had dropped down all four floors to the main level, and he followed, using the guide rails of the elevator to control the rate of his descent. His sword was at the ready as he launched himself through the air towards Tommy, who ably parried before backing towards the escalator. It took only a half second for Snake Eyes to realize that his opponent was trying to gain the high ground, but people were still running in panic trying to get out of the mall and he daren't risk injuring one of them with further gunfire or acrobatics, forcing him to meekly follow Tommy.

The two met on the escalator, katana's clashing against one another in a series of blows almost too fast for the eye to follow. For one instant, Snake Eyes thought he had Tommy's sword trapped against the hand-rail, only to have to duck backwards as Tommy drew a second sword from the pack on his back and slashed at his head. The sword struck the opposite handrail causing both ends of the rubber belt to recoil away from the duel.

Reaching the second floor, Snake Eyes vaulted the railing to interpose himself between Tommy and the path to the next level, forcing him back into the open space on the west end in front of the Holt Renfrew doors. A desperately fast series of attacks drove Tommy back, almost too easily as the two dueled across the open marble floor. They struck at each other relentlessly, inching ever closer to the open doors of the high-end retailer. A sharp kick from Tommy skipped off Snake Eyes' left knee, forcing him to roll away. But rather than press his advantage Tommy made for the entrance to Holt, clearly determined to reach the escalators inside.

Giving chase, Snake Eyes managed to catch up to the smaller man, managing to get a hand on his shoulder just inches outside the door and pushing him to one side, sending him through a window into the Tiffany's diamond display window. He leapt through after Tommy who had already run through the door, toppling a case of expensive earrings in Snake Eyes' path, almost causing him to tumble. It was several seconds before he could make it through the commotion of terrified shoppers up the escalator onto the third floor prominade where Tommy was doggedly making for the escalator to the food court. Now was the time for the rifle he had bough, and Snake Eyes sheathed his sword, dropping into a firing stance. He let loose a dozen warning rounds into the metal steps of the escalator. Thankfully the patrons had all evacuated this third level already and the ricochets merely shattered glass and displays, but still effectively turned Tommy away from the path up. Snake Eyes had no idea what his former sword brother hoped to gain, but it was clear that either Abernathy or Steen had a powerful enemy, and that Tommy had been corrupted.

His mind hearkened back briefly to the last time they had seen each other, shortly after the graduation ceremony in the Arashikage Dojo in Japan, the two had been called quietly before the Hard and Soft Masters for one final private instruction each. Neither knew what the other had been taught, but they had been warned that one day they would become the most storied rivals the world had known. They had both laughed and parted ways, and now it seemed like the masters' prophecy was coming true.

Snake Eyes pursued Tommy as he kicked down the door to the Birks Jewelery store and raced up the stairs to the second level. Of course, all the storefronts on this end of the third level were two stories, and it was a quick acrobatic leap to the overhang to get back to the food court. That should have been obvious, Snake Eyes berated himself, even more-so that he had dropped the rifle when its sling had caught on the broken door frame.

Tommy was gaining speed as the fight went on it seemed, and he managed to shimmy out though a window on the second level of the storefront and onto the north end of the food court before Snake Eyes could catch him. There was but a single chance to catch him before he reached Abernathy and Steen, and that was to attempt a near suicidal leap twenty meters through thin air to the bridge connecting the north and south concourses of the fourth level. Should he miss he'd fall four stories to some very hard marble. Here went nothing.

His finger tips barely caught onto the glass half wall on the walkway, but it was just enough to swing himself under the bridge and up over the other side just in front of Tommy. But Tommy was just as well trained. As Snake Eyes landed, he flipped directly overhead, his blade clanging on Snake Eyes' own as he passed.

But in turning his back, Tommy had left himself open, and Snake Eyes clenched his right fist hard around the sword handle. A micro-fiber net shot from the launcher on his wrist and wrapped around Tommy's legs, sending him crashing to the ground just as he was drawing his sword. Snake Eyes was almost on him before he managed to cut away the restraining netting. His other sword parried Snake Eyes' blows as he back peddled away. Tommy made to throw something he had picked up from the ground, and Snake Eyes involuntarily flinched, but it was only a few grains of rice. Still it had bought Tommy enough time to scramble to his feet and regain his balance as he backed into the leading edge of the Devonian Gardens.

Snake Eyes pressed forward a bit too quickly, and during an ill-timed attack Tommy's blade skipped off the launcher on Snake Eyes' right wrist. The attack doubtless broke it, but also stopped him in his tracks long enough for Tommy to bolt across the glass bridge to the far side of the gardens. Rolling his right wrist to make sure that it wasn't broken, Snake Eyes gave chase across the bridge. Tommy had already reached the opposite side by the time that Snake Eyes had reached half-way and he turned, pointing a pistol towards Snake Eyes' feet. An odd decision, the tempered glass wouldn't break from a bullet.

But it wasn't a bullet that launched from the muzzle of the gun, but a shockwave of sound; of course, Tommy had been with the experimental weapons squad from the CIA during the war. The Glass erupted in shards starting a few inches in front where the shockwave contacted the glass, and it sent Snake Eyes flying backwards when it reached his position in the middle of the bridge. Glass flew through the air around him as he fell and sliced the front of his suit and face when he crashed backwards into the La Senza sign beneath what had once been the opposite side of the bridge. That was going to leave a mark.

He brought himself to a standing position just in time to see Tommy vault from the fourth floor down to the third and through a window into Brooks Brothers. As he leapt from the sign to the ground and gave chase, Snake Eyes pondered the choice before realizing that the store occupied all three levels on that side; Tommy was trying to get out! He hurried through the broken window and down the escalators inside the abandoned store; the customers and staff had already wisely fled after the doors had been locked.

Snake Eyes reached the ground floor a few seconds behind Tommy, but he was already out the door. A big black van had pulled up outside, and Tommy was slamming the rear door behind him. It took of with screeching tires before Snake Eyes could even reach the door. He managed to catch a glimpse of the licence plate as the vehicle sped away: STLCRSHR.

He stopped, suddenly exhausted. It had been a long time since he'd had a proper duel, and he was definitely not in the shape he had once been. He sighed and exited the store. While he'd managed to stop Tommy's assassination attempt, he'd failed to capture him or obtain any information. The entire duel had been almost completely silent except for the screams of frightened patrons.

The mall's elevator was thankfully on ground level and he punched the button for the fourth floor, gradually returning the the food court where this had started. Just to the left of the doors Abernathy and Steen waited.

Abernathy was the first to speak, "I think you have some explaining to do."

Snake Eyes reached into a small pocket on his belt and tossed two dice on the floor. They were loaded and landed snake eyes.

"That doesn't tell me much."

Snake Eyes shrugged and stood at attention.

"Your military, I get that much, but your going to need to come with us."

A nod.

"Clayton?"

"Yes Edwin?"

"Just so I have this straight, you and I were having lunch when two ninjas - two ninjas who don't mind using military-grade firearms that is - broke into the mall through the skylight. One of them was trying to kill us, and the other apparently wanted to save us, even though we've never met either of them before - to our knowledge. They dueled and the first one escaped. Am I reading this right?"

"Seems like. Why?"

Steen surveyed the havoc that had been wrought on the mall as sirens began to wail on all sides of the building, "insurance is never going to believe this." 


	7. 06 20 2031 Flint

**06/20/2031 - Flint**__

The Rock - Location Classified

"Come on man, I said I was sorry for hitting on your wife."

"And I told you I don't like 'players'." The last word was said with acidity that matched that of a twenty-year-old car battery.

"Oh come on, how was I to know the one hot blond in the building..." Dashiell Fairborn slowly trailed off, realizing that once again, he'd said too much.

Lifeline glared at him. Ah well, thought Dashiell, at least he can't do much worse than a full physical and colorectal screening.

"Excuse me while I get the next batch of immunizations."

Next batch? Jeez, we're up to 12 already.

"Is it healthy to have this many at once?"

"Pathogens aren't going to avoid you just because your sick with something else. In fact, they like to bandwagon. So its best your immune system get used to dealing with a lot of them at once."

Dashiell already felt like a pincushion. "I'll bet the good doc never got laid in college," he muttered darkly to himself.

"The good doctor has good hearing too."

Dashiell shook his head, "I suppose a simple sorry won't do?"

"No, not really."

"You're quite vindictive, you know that right?"

"Yep."

"Just checking."

Lifeline reappeared carrying a rack of needles.

"Please tell me I don't need all of those."

"You do."

Dashiell wearily extended his arm.

"Sorry, these ones go in the gluts."

"Well that's a pain in the ass."

"Literally," Lifeline grinned.

"Your enjoying this entirely too much."

-

Twenty minutes Dashiell was staggering to stand, his vision blurred and his legs weak.

"Right then Fairborn, we're headed downstairs."

"What on earth for? More shots?"

"No, physical trials."

"Didn't we already do that?"

"Nooo, I gave you a physical examination. Physical trials are preformed by Beach Head to assess candidate's ability to perform in the battlefield under duress."

"When we're drugged up?"

"Not usually."

"Your an asshole."

"Yep."

Lifeline led him out into the corridor and down to the central concourse. During the walk, Dashiell's muscle spasms gradually stopped, and his vision returned to normal. Or at least a close approximation of normal. Even suffering slightly blurred vision, he couldn't help but notice the attractive brunette getting off the elevator just ahead of them. Pretty face, shoulder length hair, a figure to die for... She was accompanied by, oh what was his name, Lee? no, Law. Code names, Dashiell reminded himself, everyone had code names. Dashiell smiled encouragingly as they passed, eliciting only a raised eyebrow from the woman. Lifeline shook his head and roughly shoved him into the car.

They descended through most of the complex. It appeared to be rather sparsely populated for such a large undertaking, but then again, if this group was being formed in response to the attacks, they wouldn't have had much time for recruiting yet. Especially if every one had to go through the third degree like this.

Dashiell was expecting to stop at the bottom floor, but instead the car continued down below what he had taken to be the floor, passing several more floors before finally slowing to a stop. The doors slid open to reveal a long corridor.

The car chimed, and Lifeline strode out. Dashiell debated hitting the buttons and running for it, but realized that wouldn't get far. He sighed and followed. The hallway gently curved, suggesting that the floor was a giant circle like those above ground. But this one was larger than those he'd been on before. Although, Dashiell thought, if he was deeper in the mountain that made sense. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a drip. He followed Lifeline for a few hundred more meters before lifeline finally selected a door, seemingly at random.

"Beachhead. I've got a live one for you," Dashiell heard Lifeline call through the door as the two of them entered.

"Not for long I reckon."

Dashiell turned towards the sound of the voice. Standing a few meters to his left was the biggest, meanest looking man he'd ever seen. Lifeline was tall at something around 6'4" but this, Beachhead, had several inches even on him. Not to mention the fact he looked like he could wrestle a bear. Dashiell was so distracted by the man's imposing appearance, that he almost missed catching the canvas bag thrown in his direction.

"Put those on pretty boy, and then let's watch you dance."

The man's laugh caused Dashiell to shiver as he retreated to an alcove beside the door to change.

-

"So," Beachhead asked once Dashiell was gone, "what's he in for?"

"Hit on my wife."

"Ouch. That's almost as bad as pissing off Colton." Beachhead chuckled. "Though I get the feeling I'm not the first stop on the path of pain."

"No, I decided to get the first four medical checks out of the way first. Plus a few optional ones."

"You really have no conscience do you?"

"You have to ask?"

"No. How hard are we going for?"

"Well, he's a Warrant Officer, so give him all you've got."

"We'll be here all day waiting for him to get through those."

"Hot date?"

Beachhead grunted, "you know damn well I don't."

"I told you, all you have to do is..."

"And I told you, I don't need the advice. I'll sort it out myself."

Lifeline shrugged, "have it your way then, I'm just trying to help."

"Yeah, yeah. Here comes nancy boy."

-

Dashiell glowered as he exited the alcove, clad in military issue shorts and a light t-shirt, both of which felt like they'd been filled with itching powder.

Beachhead approached, grinning beneath his mustache. "Ok son, all you have to do is get over to that far wall, ring that bell, and get back here without touching anything red."

Dashiell looked out across the empty expanse of floor. The room was cavernous, several hundred meters in both length and breadth. And all grey. No red in sight. Except for the massive gantries near the roof, dozens of meters above.

For a minute he allowed himself to relax. Things weren't that bad. "Well, that's not too har-"

"THEN DO IT MAGGET!" Beachhead interrupted him, clicking a button on a stopwatch in his left hand. "Oh, and we're timing you."

"SHIT!"

Dashiell took off towards the far wall at a run. He wished he'd been given a bit more notice, but he was a good sprinter, and it would only take him a few seconds to-

"WOAH!"

Dashiell felt himself trip and fall and smack face down into something. Something cushioned. Something, Dashiell paused as the stars disappeared, red?

He groaned and rolled over, looking up, seeing walls rising up three meters on either side of him. Beachhead's face appeared over the edge. "Did I mention the room changes?"

Only now did Dashiell notice the remote control in Beachhead's other hand.

"You failed. Do it again."

-

Beachhead returned to where Lifeline had set up a pair of deck chairs and a table.

"Lemonade?"

"It seemed suitable ironic."

Beachhead shrugged and took the offered glass.

Just ahead of them, they could see Dashiell hauling himself up a ladder from inside the trench.

Lifeline stretched.

Beachhead tapped a series of buttons to slam the trench's sliding lid just as Dashiell's foot cleared the gap.

Dashiell walked back to the starting point, and waited.

Beachhead looked at him, feigning ignorance.

"Well?" Dashiell asked, "can I start?"

Beachhead cocked his head, "of course you c...oh. Timer's already running."

Dashiell took off, losing a string of curses. Beachhead laughed.

-

Bloody bastard, thought Dashiell. What gives him the righ- whoops!

That damn trench had opened up again, but at least he'd been able to jump it this time. He ran on, but pulled up short, as two rows of red columns, just over a meter high extruded themselves from the ground in front of him. Grey steel disks still covered the top of the columns, and Dashiell used those to vault the two rows. He landed hard. Somehow the ground behind them had dropped away a good meter, and then sloped up. He sighed and ran, in front of him, a vertical grey plate extended from the ground, stretching in both directions. He jumped and caught the edge, scrabbling with his legs to pull himself up, he made it and rolled over to the other side.

His momentum carried him just past the red cushion on the other side. Dashiell rolled away in frustration, picking himself up, and stopped just short of another trench. He shook his head. This one was far too wide to jump, but he spied a rope farther off to the right tethered to his side of the trench. He ran for it, but dropped to the ground as something small whizzed by his ear. He looked around. A sharp crack sounded just to his left, and he spun. It took him a second to notice the little red ball rolling on the ground.

Confusion made him pause, until another knifed down from above, smacking the ground just in front of his feet. He jumped backwards, just in time to avoid another projectile. He ran for the rope, chased by an intensifying stream of red pellets. The red gantries above made sense now. The machinery that hung from them must be part of this funhouse, one part of it firing this stuff at him.

Dashiell reached the rope, and tried to pull the end free. It didn't budge. It also wasn't a rope, but a steal cable. He looked at where it was tied, and found it welded to a block that was attached to the floor. The humming from the box when he pulled the cable indicated it was mag-locked to the floor.

The delay cost him, several of the projectiles hit his shoulder, and a loud buzz rang through the chamber. The floor reverted to its original formation, the cable released and began to retract.

Across the room, Beachhead's voice echoed, "Again!"

-

Lifeline watched Dashiell storm back to the starting point for his third go.

"You watch the game last night?" Beachhead asked.

"Hockey?"

"I kinda assumed that's the only sport you Canucks watched."

"Well, we do watch football too."

"The CFL? That's not a sport."

"I'll never understand why you Americans say that, we move the ball a longer field, using fewer downs."

"But you don't have any real athletes."

"Only because they get paid more down here."

"Hey, we pay for quality."

"That worked real well with your last president."

Beachhead pursed his lips, "well, I sure didn't vote for him."

"I've yet to meet anyone who did, even members of his own party. And yet, somehow he got 60% of the vote." Lifeline paused, "and about the same percentage of the Treasury when he split for Korea."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying..."

"What part of 'shut up' do you not understand?"

-

Dashiell reached the starting point, turned and started to run again. He'd gotten only a few meters before Beachhead's voice called out, "Wait there spunky, I haven't started the timer yet."

"What is your problem man?"

"I don't have a problem. Do you have a problem? Does he look like he has a problem Lifeline?...well?"

"You said shut up, remember?" Lifeline mocked, sipping from his glass.

Dashiell shook his head in disgust as he returned to the starting spot, wondering what kind of outfit he'd gotten himself into.

"Alright," Beachhead said, "again."

-

Lifeline watched Dashiell go, "he doesn't seem to be enjoying himself does he?"

Beachhead snorted, "would you be?"

Both men chuckled.

-

Three quarters of an hour later, Dashiell was leaning on the wall beside the door, trying to catch his breath after his fourth attempt to run the gauntlet. The two men were evil. Pure and simple. He'd made it three quarters of the way back before the ground beneath him suddenly tilted backwards throwing him into a newly opened chasm. He didn't know what kind of battle conditions these two were trying to simulate, but they were nothing like he'd ever seen.

"Are you ready yet, or shall we call your mama?" mocked Beachhead.

Dashiell didn't even bother dignifying that with a response, deciding it was best to save his breath and get through this thing. Grudgingly, he pushed off the wall and made his way over to the starting position, sweat and a bit of blood made his outfit cling to his body, increasing its inherent discomfort. He did his best to ignore it while keeping an eye on Beachhead's stopwatch hand. The instant Beachhead's thumb twitched to depress the starter, Dashiell was off and running. He vaulted the first chasm with ease, using his momentum to propel himself up the slowly inclining wall in front of him. He dove off the top edge, somersaulting over the red mat beyond, and grabbed a loose piece of floor tile to hold over his head.

The red pellets from the overhead gun sounded like hail on a tin roof. Ahead of him the second trench cut a scare across the pristine floor. This time however, there was no cable on his side to climb. He shrugged, and made the leap, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the ladder leading up the far side. Sweat made his hands slip and for an instant he feared another failure, but he finally grabbed the third rung. He cried out in pain as the sharp edge dug into the palm of his hand, but he clambered up to the other side.

Ahead of him was a forest of red poles. Distantly, he wondered just how many crazy configurations this hell-hole had. Rather than vaulting them as he had before, he slithered carefully through below their tops, avoiding the spray of rubber balls fired from either side. At the edge he paused, the far side sloped down to the edge of another trench. He didn't want to try the jumping trick again, and instead hurried along the edge of the pole forest until he came to a section where a sort of bridge crossed the trench.

He ran, watching the bridge retract as he approached, but not fast enough to prevent him from jumping the gap. But it was fast enough for him to end up twisting his ankle as he landed. He cursed as he fell, unaware for a second that his misfortune had actually allowed him to avoid the chain that scythed from roof through the space where he would have been standing.

Dashiell shook his head, and slithered along the ground as more pellets flew from either side of the room, intent on cutting him down. The respite allowed his ankle to stop its throbbing, and he made it through the next hundred meters without incident.

As he approached the bell, he allowed his feet to slide out from under him and slid under the bell, who's frame pelted a random spray of pellets. Rather than try to ring it from the outside as he had before, he stood up inside the giant iron bell, and whacked it with the hanging pendulum. For an instant, Dashiell allowed himself to savor the sound of pellets cracking impotently on the iron shell of the bell, even though the vibrations of the old iron bell were on the verge of deafening him. In a moment, the cracks stopped, and he droped down to a knee to survey the path back.

The whole complexion of the room had changed. In front of him was a series of trenches, followed by a curtain of fire from above, a forest of poles and a 9 foot wall.

"Piece of cake," Dashiell said to himself and grinned.

-

Beachhead turned to Lifeline, "looks like he's actually going to make it on five tries."

Lifeline looked disgusted.

"Oh come on, hate the guy or not, that beats everyone except Snake."

"Not on my watch he doesn't," Lifeline replied, standing up from his chair. "When you see me raise my hand..."

-

Dashiell's feet were flying, as he approached the end of the course. Ahead of him, he could see Lifeline getting out of his chair and walking towards him. The louse actually had a smile on his face. Looks like he'd made it, Dashiell thought as he headed towards Lifeline who was gesturing at him. Lifeline stood just to the right of the path the Dashiell needed to take to reach the end point, and had his hand raised to give a high five as he passed. Perhaps he'd finally forgiven him. That would be nice.

Dashiell approached, not slowing his pace, and raised a hand to meet Lifeline's - which abruptly dropped and smacked him hard in the stomach.

The wind went out of Dashiell's lungs and he felt himself falling forward and tumbling down into the same trench he'd fallen into the first time.

At least this time he landed face up.

Lifeline's face appeared over the trench, "let this be a lesson, NEVER think somethings over before you've been extracted. It gets you killed."

Dashiell cursed as lifeline jumped the trench back to the other side, and was still muttering expletives when Beachhead's appeared.

The big man smirked, "again."

Code Name: Flint  
File Name: Dashiell Fairborn  
Birthplace: Wichita, Kansas  
Rank: W5  
Primary Military Specialty: Infantry  
Secondary Military Specialty: Helicopter Pilot


	8. 08 14 2031 Stalker

**08/14/2031 - Stalker  
**  
"You know, the last time I had to wear a blindfold was back when I was young enough to play pin the tail on the donkey," Lonzo Wilkinson muttered for the dozenth time.

A sigh whistled between Wild Bill's teeth, "yer mighty jumpy ther' pardner."

"Yeah, well I don't like not being able to see where I am or where I'm going. I also don't like having my hands tied."

"If ya'd quit tryin ta take off tha 'fold, I wouldn' a had to trus ya up."

"Well, if someone would tell me where in hell I'm going, I could just use it as an excuse to take a nap."

"Don' get snaky with me pard'. We all hada do this, so shut yer pie-hole and relax."

Lonzo had to admit he wasn't used to being told to shut up by a mouthy texan. There was also a small part of him that naggingly told him he'd heard that voice somewhere before; kind of reminded him of that country singer his adopted son liked. What was his name? Bill, Will, oh yes, William Hardy; ex special forces turned country singer. Right. Lonzo couldn't stand the guy's caterwauling, but Sean liked it, so he put up with it. Perhaps it was because he'd grown up on some old-school rap in the Bronx, but country was the one type of music that never failed to rub him the wrong way.

Deciding to try a different tact, Lonzo changed the subject, "Wild Bill, anyone ever tell you you kind of sound like William Hardy."

The pilot chuckled, "yea boi, I get that alot."

"You ever listen to his music?"

"Ya migh' say that. Hold on to yer hat, we're landin'."

"Final destination?"

"Good movie."

"Not funny," Lonzo replied, acid lacing his voice.

"Yea, wer' her', don't go crappin yer pants."

As the helicopter's seat seemed to drop out from underneath him, Stalker reflected on the last time he'd felt his stomach enter his throat like that back during the Chino-Korean War when his team had been inserted on the Mongolian border to poke around Manchuria. That had been one major cluster-fuck; Wade Collins, Dick Saperstein, Ramon Escobedo; all dead. Wade wascut down by a mortar shell only meters from the chopper door, Tommy had barely managed to haul Robert to the door, and the chopper had gone down in flames barely able to make it over the Russian border. Robert had never been the same, but rather than come back Stateside to get proper care and explain to the families how he and Stalker had gotten their buddies killed, he'd disappeared with Tommy to Japan and he hadn't seen either since. All these years later, that still rankled with Lonzo; not even a phone call to say if he was ever coming back. Well, it didn't matter now, wherever he was, Lonzo just hoped never to see him again.

Through his seat, he could feel the helicopter's skids touch the tarmac. Wherever they were going, they had arived.

"Would you mind untying me now?"

"Nah. I think I'll leave you trust up fer a few 'ours ta calm _the fuck DOWN_!"

"Now who's crappin their pants," Lonzo said.

Behind him the cowboy, or whatever he was, was muttering something very derogative about him. Lonzo didn't much care. There was no human reason why whatever this unit was wouldn't trust him, and this charade they insisted on perpetuating was utterly ridiculous for a pecial forces unit; unnecessary and demeaning. The cockpit latches clicked and the hydraulics hissed. Outside the cockpit Lonzo could hear the usual commotion of a flight deck, but was unable to descern anything particular until one voice spoke out from somewhere on the left.

"Bring that Locust down any harder Wild Bill and you're going to leave a crater."

"Yer jus' jealus o' mai good looks Major Altitude. Lonzo, this here's Major Altitude." Finally, the cowboy removed the blindfold and unlocked the handcuffs holding Lonzo to his chair. "Don' let the 'major' thing confuze ya, he's a warran' officer, and he'll be showin ya round tha base. Airborne, ya 'bout ready ta hop?"

"Ready and able Bill, soon as this fellow gets out of my seat."

Beside the two-seat chopper stood a Native American wearing a tan jumpsuit with a blue bulletproof vest. He had a large duffle bag slung over one shoulder, but extended a hand to help Lonzo out of the cockpit.

"Hi. You can call me Airborne, welcome to The Rock, Mr..."

"Sgt. Lonzo Wilkinson, Master Sergent of the 75th Rangers."

"Well, you're going to need to change that to 'formerly of the 75th Rangers' if the brass decides your up to snuff, but welcome to the team Sarge." Airborne smiled, then ducked down to lash his duffle to the landing skid of the helicopter in front of Lonzo's which he promptly unlashed and tossed over.

"Yo Major Altitude, try not to abuse him too much," Airborne called over his shoulder as he settled into the gunnery seat of the chopper.

Lonzo followed this 'Major Altitude' character out of the breeze zone beneath the wings and held his beret in place as the chopper lifted back up and out of the mouth of the hanger.

For the first time Lonzo took a minute to study his surroundings, by all appearances he was in a cave, albeit a very, very large cave with a line of state-of-the-art aircraft lined along one wall. The floor was polished smooth and the rear wall was scared black, doubtless from the engine exhaust of jet fighters. The ceiling arched fifty feet overhead and was strung with a series of floodlights. The whole place had the feeling of a Cold War era fallout shelter, and given the length of time they'd been in the air, the isolated location would fit that description also.

He hoisted his duffel over his shoulder and set off after Major Altitude who was setting a quick pace through the hanger. Behind them a rumbling sound emanated, and it took Lonzo a second to realize that it was a pair of large steel doors closing over the mouth of the hanger. He was officially locked in to whatever this place was.

"So, where are we going?"

"Upstairs," was Major Altitude's cryptic response.

"Riiiight."

"Sorry, I meant up to the command offices. Most of us just refer to it as 'upstairs'."

"I see. Any other lingo I should know about in order to figure out what's going on around here?"

"Nothing yet, but eventually you probably will. That depends on whether they approve you for service here."

"Wonderful."

Major Altitude led the way though a double bulkhead door in what Lonzo had at first assumed to be the back wall. Now that they were through the door, he saw that it opened into a large concourse that looked down a dozen or more levels. He had to pause for second to appreciate the view. The roof appeared to be the same height overhead as the one in the hanger had been. The concourse circled an open area that Lonzo would have guessed to be around the length of a football field in diameter. Assuming each level was anywhere near as large as this one was this facility, wherever and whatever it was, would be huge. Conflicting opinions warred in his mind as to whether he should be impressed or worried.

A quarter turn clockwise from where they had exited the hanger sat a bank of elevators, of which one stood with its doors open, apparently awaiting their arrival as Major Altitude led Lonzo into the car. He pushed the top button on the panel, marked with a 15.

"I'm going to assume that the Generals will be welcoming you to the team," Major Altitude explained, "but procedure is I can't give you a proper tour of the base, or introduce you to the rest of the team until the official word comes down."

"Very cloak and dagger. I take it this is some Special Forces operation then?"

"Nice try, but I can't explain what the unit is, the generals will. Trust me, its not what you expect."

"And what do you think I'm expecting."

Major Altitude simply shrugged, "I haven't the foggiest, I just know that no one's guessed right yet."

A chime announced the arrival of the car at the desired level and the doors opened to reveal what looked like a very normal rotunda in which sat an expansive desk behind which sat a woman dressed in pink.

"Good afternoon my Queen," said Major Altitude cheerfully.

"Hello dear," she replied with a smile, "you didn't return my text last night."

"I can't get reception down in the hole," Major Altitude replied, a sheepish expression coming across his face.

"Boooo." She now gave Stalker the once-over, "he's slated to meet with Flagg."

"Thanks."

Stalker waited until they were making their way down a hallway lined with offices, "my Queen?"

"That's what we call her, the Queen," Major Altitude shrugged, "not sure why, it just sort of stuck."

"Anyone around here with a normal name?"

"As a rule? No."

Lonzo rolled his eyes, but kept on walking. He dropped back a bit to get a better look at the name placks on the doors. Only about half were labelled, but he couldn't help raise an eyebrow at what he saw: Dogfight, Ghostrider, Action Man, Skystriker, Courage, Lifeline, and other crazy names like that. Whole base of nut-jobs it seemed. Still, he'd been told that the unit was the best of the best, so perhaps they were trying to see how he reacted to such strangeness to assess his mental acuity. Settling on that as the most likely explanation, Lonzo resolved not to show any further reaction to the weird things he saw and heard. For all he knew, he'd already blown his chance of getting on the team.

"Here we are," announced Major Altitude knocking on what seemed like an arbitrarily chosen door, "I'll take your bag while your in there with General Flagg, and I'll be here when your done, whatever the outcome."

With nothing to do but follow instructions, Lonzo walked through the door into the General's office. The first thing that struck him was the large digital display of a world map that dominated the entire rear wall. Coloured symbols moved across it surface, many with flags representing the country of origin, but equally as many without, represented in a way that he couldn't associate with any organization he could think of. On the left was a row of file cabinets, and the right wall was dominated by smaller screens, all of which were currently blanked; either the general had turned them off in order to protect classified information, or he had deliberately left on only the screen behind him as a way to unnerve and distract any guests. Unfortunately, it was working; Lonzo had to admit a fair bit of his attention was drawn automatically to the map, as a soldier, the instinct to know your enemy's movements was often the difference between survival and death. But he slowly pulled his attention away from the map and instead focused on the general sitting across a large desk tha tdominated the center of the room.

Greying brown hair topped a lean face with an expression that suggested he'd seen more combat than most soldiers ever would, Lonzo estimated his height as about 5'6", and figured that whoever this man was, he knew what he was about and had more than enough practical experience to have earned his position, unlike many of similar rank. Following Flagg's gesturing hand, Lonzo took a seat across the table.

"Hello Sgt. Wilkinson, we have a lot to discuss."

-

Two hours later, Lonzo Wilkinson, now known as Stalker, closed the door to General Flagg's office behind him. Things made a lot more sense now - the code names, the isolation of the facility, the secrecy surrounding everything. It was a lot to digest. Outside waited Major Altitude, it looked like he hadn't moved an inch since Lonzo had gone inside.

After handing him his bag, Major Altitude led him back through the waiting room, past the secretary's desk and down the lifts back into the base. They emerged on the same level as the hanger where Lonzo had first come in. Major Altitude was a lot more talkative now, but Lonzo had a hard time blaming him for his earlier caution, if he hadn't earned his place on the team, the less he'd known the better it would have been for everyone. As it was, he shuddered to think what the organization did to keep its existence quiet after a candidate was rejected.

"First thing we should do is show you around the base. As you can see here, this level is mostly dedicated to the hanger and the pilot ready rooms. Below us is the motor pool and associated repair bays. You're not a pilot I'll just breeze past the hanger and show you briefly around the Motor Pool, then we'll get to the levels you'll be making more use of, and I'll try to introduce you to any of our joes we run across. Ah, speaking of, here's one now."

Walking towards the two men was a man clad entirely in black, with what looked like a medieval visor covering his eyes and a sword strapped to his back. He looked familiar, the gate, the height, but Stalker couldn't quite place it.

"This is a rare occasion, usually Snake Eyes isn't on base."

It took Lonzo a second to believe it, but suddenly it all clicked in his mind - the man had the same height and build as the one other person he'd know to have that nickname, and the sword canned it. His emotions warred with one another for a split second but anger quickly won out.

"YOU!" he snarled, "what kind of outfit are you running here? You'll take just anyone, even if they cut out and disappear when it suits them?"

Major Altitude appeared to be at an utter loss, "you two know each other?"

"Yeah, we barely got out of Manchuria after the Koreans dropped the nuke on Beijing. Half our squad got killed, and then he and Thomas go off and disappear!" Lonzo strode forward towards the man who had once been his friend, "What have you got to say for yourself? Well? Oh yes, that's right, Mr. Martyr here never bothered to get himself patched up. What's the matter. Ninja's don't have some special mystical fandangle for facial reconstruction?" That seemed to get a response, and Lonzo pushed him back towards the wall.

"I don't think this is-"

"Can it. Sir." Lonzo snapped turning his back on the shocked warrant officer. "You know what I did once I got out of the hospital? I went and did the rounds to tell people why their son, brother, husband or father didn't make it home. That they were cut down. You know who's job that's supposed to be? YOURS! But you went off to lick your wounds. You think everyone else who was there wasn't in bad shape? Get your head out of your ass. We were all in bad shape, but all you could think of was yourself. When I went to go see Jane, Wade's wife? You know what happened? She had a heart attack, didn't even last long enough for the ambulance to get there. I adopted him, tried to raise him, remind him of his father. But YOUR the one who knew Wade, not me, but I'm the one doing both our jobs."

Something in Lonzo snapped as he let himself vent the feelings he'd had bottled up for over a decade and the first punch landed squarely in Snake Eyes' face. He made only the most minimal effort to defend himself and a further flurry of punches backed him against the wall.

"Your ninja crap ain't helping you right now is it smart guy?"

A swift kick landed between Snake Eyes' legs and dropped him to the floor, but Lonzo kept on kicking, "How could you just abandon us like that? ME? I thought you were my buddy!"

"Stalker," came a voice from behind him.

Turning his head to yell over his shoulder, Lonzo's face caught the brunt of a speeding truck. Or at least that's what it felt like.

Next thing he knew he was staring up at an MP, he could tell because it was stenciled on his white helmet, topping a very angry looking face over a red shirt and blue vest. Lonzo was fairly certain that he could see the indentation in the man's riot shield where it had hit his face. The man's hand reached down and he effortlessly picked up Lonzo by his shirt collar.

"I don't know who you think you are. But I will NOT tolerate this behaviour on base. If you have a problem with a fellow Joe, you take it to the Generals. If I ever see this behaviour again, I'll beat your sorry ass black and blue and have you out on your ear faster than you can blink. GOT IT!"

Lonzo would have ground his teeth, but his jaw hurt far too much to manage that.

"Got it."

He turned to where Snake Eyes had lain a minute ago, but he was already gone. 

****Code Name: Stalker

File Name: Lonzo Wilkinson  
Birthplace: Detroit, Michigan  
Rank: E8  
Primary Military Specialty: Infantry  
Secondary Military Specialty: Medic/Interpreter


	9. 08 20 2031 Mess Haul Blues

**08/20/2031 - Mess Haul Blues**

Allow me to introduce myself the name's Roadblock,  
When I'm not out on missions I'm in the mess around the clock.  
You can either find me using my machine gun,  
Or rolling a Hot-cross bun.

Today I'm minding the mess hall,  
Keeping an eye on all,  
Whether they're making a phone call,  
Or playing billiard ball.

Over in the Corner,  
You can see Brad Armbruster,  
We call him Ace,  
Man's got one hell of a poker face,  
Never play cards against him,  
The result will be quite grim.

Don't believe me? look there,  
See the man running like the March hare?  
That's Snow Job,  
I'm sure his head is starting to throb,  
He just lost half a grand,  
Exactly like old Ace planned.

See Cover Girl sitting there with the crutch?  
You know, the brunette next to Clutch?  
She broke her leg in France,  
While her gun made Cobras dance.  
You'll find that's her idea of fun,  
Making Cobra's plans come undone.

As usuall Clutch is hitting on her,  
And in a few minutes his face will be hit by a blur,  
The brick in her purse makes quite a mark,  
Every time he's dum enough to make a remark.

Over there are Flint and Jaye,  
Try to ignore their public display,  
Its just a few weeks till she walks down the asile with her bouquet.

And that masked man sipping on his gin?  
Thats Snake Eyes, don't mess with him.  
Blink and he'll vanish with a speed the defies,  
Why? Cause he's the mother-fucking Snake Eyes!

The geeks playing scrabble,  
You don't want to hear their psychobabble,  
They hide down the fobbit hole,  
Which, I assure you, is much like the Rabbit Hole.  
You'll go crazy listing to them,  
Debating their latest technological gem,  
They're quite impossible,  
And really, overall, quite dull.

There you can see Dogfight,  
Not to worry, he doesn't bite,  
He's quite the pilot,  
Able to deal with any threat.

Two tables over is Mutt,  
The one sitting with his eyes shut,  
The dog's name is Junkyard, and he's quite nice,  
But don't cross Mutt, he'll deck you twice.

Those two roudy boys at the rear,  
Beware, Lift Ticket will talk off your ear,  
Crazy legs ain't much better,  
He follows orders to the letter,  
Drop a crumb and he'll be after your hide,  
And it might be best to hightail it outside.

That man in the chrome dome is SBC,  
The most ornery dude you ever did see,  
He's not a popular man,  
I'd advise you to avoid him if you can.

Well, I've got a soufle to finish,  
But don't let your interest diminish,  
I'll be back again later,  
To serve as your main waiter,  
And I'll introduce you to more of our boys,  
Now just have your lunch, and don't make too much noise.


	10. 09 04 2031 Mutt

**08/04/2031 - Mutt (and Junkyard)  
**  
''More your arse Mutt," hollered Jeffery Perlmutter.

"I'm moving as fast as I can Jeff," his brother Stanley hollered back.

Stanley's dog Junkyard added an enthusiastic bark.

The two brothers were members of the New York City Police Department. Right now they were in hot pursuit of some nutcase who had planted a bomb in Grand Central Station that morning. He'd already killed five cops in his flight, and the brothers were the department's best trackers, so naturally they had drawn the final pursuit.

Stanley was no longer certain earthy where they were. Somewhere along the riverfront among the myriad of industrial buildings lining the river. The nighttimes skyline of Manhattan across the river would have been a sight to behold on any other night.

No one was quite sure who they were chasing,other than that he had a pair of scars bisecting each of his eyes. Jeff had been the one to suggest referring to him as Scar face. Al Pachino, eat your heart out.

Jeff rounded a corner ante stopped, "Damn, lost him."

"OK Junk, do your thing."

Junkyard barked agreeably and put his nose to the ground. Stanley looked around nervously. The terrorist was around here somewhere, and he had very little intention of winding up dead. Jeff's wedding rehearsal was in two days and there was no way Stanley was going to miss that.

Junkyard barked again and polled towards an alleyway on the right.

"Got him."

The brothers took off in pursuit.

-

The terrorist watched the men go. Dumb dog, he thought, drag a T-bone steak one way and he'll follow, then just wait. The police scanner buzzed in his left ear. Units were converging on the north end of the warehouses, so it was time for him to head out to the south.

Behind his red face mask, he smiled. No matter how advanced the police claimed to be, they were still amazingly dumb.

He dropped silently from the top of the cargo container to the ground and proceeded at a leisurely pace in the opposite direction from that the brother's had taken a moment before. Behind him he could hear barking. So long as the dog hadn't come across the meat yet it wasn't something to be worried about.

-

Stanley leaned down over Junkyard, "ya dumb mutt always thinking with your stomach. I think we lost him Jeff."

Jeff was staring back the way they had come, "Perhaps not Mutt, look!"

Stanley followed his brother pointing finger and saw what be presumed was their quavery sauntering slowly in the opposite direction. He grinned. He slipped a muzzle onto Junkyard's month and gently shoved Jeff down a crosswise alley.

"If we hurry down this pathway we can cat him off before he reaches the river."

Jeff nodded and the times headed off in pursuit.

-

The terrorist listened for more barking. Hearing none, he increased his pace, now considering that the police had discovered his trick with the meat sooner than he had anticipated. That would be unfortunate, but not irreparable. He shook his head, there were no indications of pursuit, nothing to worry about.

Cargo containers lined his path on either side, blocking his view of the surroundings, but also hindering any search for him. While empirically he knew this, a small part of his brain worried. He shook his head, he must need another session with Doc V's brainwave scanner. He had to get rid of this paranoia once and for all. And yet the same small part of him worried that his paranoia was what made him one of Cobra's best officers.

A position that was now in danger. The commander wouldn't be pleased with the most recent failure. The last botched New York operation had been a thorn in everyone's side. It had cost Major Bludd his right arm. In a very literal sense. Two dozen Alley Vipers should have been more than enough to retrieve the cadavers before they could be analyzed by the UN's slaves. Instead, they'd gotten themselves killed.

His mind flashed back to that day in the throne room, Major Bludd standing before the commander, explaining his troops failure. For a full twenty minutes the Commander hadn't said a word, and when the Major had finished, that didn't change. Instead the Commander had snapped his fingers and Ghost and Vipra had stepped forward. Bludd had looked horrified as each grabbed an arm and pulled it away from his body.

Everyone in the courtroom had expected his imminent death, but instead the Commander's sword had severed Bludd's right arm just below the shoulder. The screaming Major had then been dragged from the room. Scalpel had been ordered to replace it in due time, but the agony must have been unbearable.

And now his mission had failed. He'd lost both of the blueshirts he'd brought with him, and failed to assassinate the general secretary. He did wonder why he'd been chosen rather than Ghost or Blackout. Either would have made a much more logical choice. But it did no good to debate now. He was here. He had failed. His life was now in the Commander's hands. All he had to do was get back.

-

Stanley and Jeffery stopped behind yet another row of containers. Stanley was fairly sure he'd counted 40 stacks on their way. Now they just had to wait. The row that the terrorist was making his way down reached a dead end and he would have to cut across into this way if he intended to make his way to the docks. Presumably that was his escape route. A coast guard cutter was supposed to be making its way over after Jeffery's call to dispatch earlier, but they had no way of knowing if it would arrive in time, or how many reinforcements it might bring.

The two men heard the terrorist's footfalls only a split second before he rounded the corner. And by then it was too late.

For a minute all three of them were frozen where they stood. Jeff brought out his nightstick and swung for the terrorist's jaw, Stanley stooped to remove Junkyards' mussel, and the terrorist triggered a burst from an antiquated Uzi.

Jeff's wild swing connected with the terrorist's shoulder, and the terrorist's burst caught Junkyard across the forelegs and Stanley in the arm. He cursed as he went down.

The terrorist kicked Jeff in the leg, dropping him, and scrambled up and over the nearest container.

"Stan, you alright?"

"I'll be fine. Just let me patch this up and I'll be read to go. Junk, your going to have to stay here," he added to his whimpering pet.

"I'm going after him."

"No, wait..."

"No time to wait, if he gets away, we've lost him.

Stanley watched his brother clamber up the container in pursuit. He shook his head, there was no way Jeff could catch that madman alone. He quickly tore a strop of cloth from his shirt and wrapped it tightly around his own wound in order to staunch the bleeding. Junkyard whimpered beside him, so he took an extra minute to wrap the dog's wounds in two other strips of cloth.

"Stay," he ordered Junkyard, and hurried after his brother.

-

The terrorist was nearing the riverfront, and he could hear two boats, one was idling, that must be Copperhead waiting for the extraction, and one was approaching, no doubt a coast guard or police cutter by now. He smiled, there was no one who could -

A pair or bullets whipping beside his ear interrupted that thought. Turning, he found himself facing the uninjured cop. Bloody tenacious these two. He dodged behind another container, a mere three stacks from freedom.

The cop was advancing slowly now, pistol pointed at the edge of the container. Another shot caromed off the corner of the container every few seconds. But that was no matter. From his hiding spot he could see Copperhead aiming his rifle.

-

Stanley dropped down off the last crates and took in the entire scene in a moment. Jeff aiming his gun at a crate, the terrorist presumably behind said crate, and a man on a boat aiming a high-powered hunters rifle at his brother.

"JEFF, LOOK OU-"

His warning was cut off with a sharp report, and his brother's head exploded into a spray of red mist. Stanley drew his own gun and fired wildly as the first terrorist broke from cover and ran from the boat. A second shot from the man on the boat took Stanley in the left shoulder and threw him to the ground, crashing his head on a rock and knocking him unconscious.

-

Stanley left the hospital two days later, and attended his brother's funeral on what was supposed to have been his wedding day. A week later, he attended the funeral of the woman who would have become his sister in law. A suicide. Three days later he was approached by a man known as Flagg. Flagg offered him a job with the UN, a job that would allow him to hunt the man who had ruined his life, a job he was happy to take.

Code Name: Mutt  
File Name: Stanley Perlmutter  
Birthplace: Iselin, New Jersey  
Rank: E6  
Primary Military Specialty: Dog Handler  
Secondary Military Specialty: Infantry


	11. 11 02 2031 Clean Sweep

**11/02/2031 - Clean Sweep**

_Ruins of New Delhi, India_

An arm extended and poked the rubble dislodging a cascade of small rocks and clearing the pathway ahead. Gears whirred as the arm retracted, and the drone's treads spun for traction on the silt deposited in the ruins. A few meters ahead the tunnel dead-ended at a concrete wall. The spotlight from the drone swivelled allowing the camera to observe the surrounding debris. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, the camera rotated and slid to the opposite end of the drone which began backing the way it had come.

At the mouth of the tunnel Daniel Price allowed his head to fall back against the steal post sticking up from the ground behind him, keeping only half an eye on the control console in his hands as he backed the drone out. Beneath his suit he was sweating horribly, but thankfully he only had another thirty minutes left during this deployment before he had to head back out. A quick check on the radiation gauge on his wrist showed the levels approaching the yellow zone a little earlier than normal. He sighed, that was to be expected as he was working closer to the epicenter this afternoon, but he still wasn't keen on staying in a high radiation zone longer than he had to.

The rover drone trundled out of the hole beside him, and he set it in follow mode before standing up. He'd make a show of poking around for a few minutes before heading for extraction, but he was dead tired after a full six hours in hazmat suit. He strolled up to the top of the ruin beside him and turned to stare towards what had once been the center of town. A couple kilometers away the edge of the blast crater rose, encircling a massive hole in the ground coated with fused atomic glass. Just over five years ago three nuclear warheads had been detonated at the core of that hole, killing most of the city's nearly 20 million in mere seconds. The radiation cloud had drifted east polluting vast swaths of cropland along the Yamuna and Ganges rivers in northern India.

Two years later, India had ceased to exist as a country, its territory being parceled out to Pakistan, Nepal, China, Bangladesh and Sri Lenka. Conspiracy theorists still claimed it was a plot by Pakistan to improve their territorial claims, despite overwhelming evidence that the three were 'dirty bombs' assembled by a rogue organization. Daniel was one of the small army of military and civilian investigators crawling all over the irradiated zone, the only territory officially administered by the United Nations, examining the results and attempting to piece together what had happened.

Not that they'd found much with most of the city leveled, and nothing would ever be recovered from within the crater. But here and there surveillance tapes and other detritus of society were being found that had slowly allowed a reconstruction of the hours leading up to the disaster. Work had intensified recently, starting a few weeks after Black Thursday, though it was unclear why. Personally, Daniel suspected that someone believed that the two events were linked to the same group, whoever they were.

The sounds of a helicopter reached his ears from the south, and he turned to make his way to the extraction point.

-

_Research Buildings - South End of the Irradiated Zone  
_

"Morning Daniel," chirped Brittney, his research assistant. "Anything interesting on the night shift?"

"Rocks, roaches and radiation," he smiled shaking his head. "I think that anything useful has probably been picked up already. Other than the various human detritus, there's not much left for the crews."

"Can I start packing for Cancun yet?"

"Two more weeks until the next rotation out. Perhaps. Unless something major comes to light, there's not much point sticking around."

He picked up the week's mail from the side table and started rifling through, stroking his mustache. Less than last week, but his subscriptions had come through this time and a letter confirmed that his paper had been accepted by Nature for publication in the spring. Well, at least something good had come out of this posting, he reflected. There was also a letter from the US Military abouts ome posting to a special international operations unit with the UN because of his bio-weapons research. He put that letter on top of the pile he would read later, it sounded like something more interesting than his usual work back in the states, which usually involved attempting to weaponize the common cold. Here, he'd been able to work on viruses and bacteria that had survived the massive nuclear fallout from the blast, many of which had been mutated beyond recognition and therefore served as incredible templates for weaponization of disease. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he realized just how twisted that thought would sound to an outsider, but he knew that most in the science community would understand it was a rational interest, not a desire to destroy the world.

Daniel was dead tired after a night of searching through the debris field, but his latest batch of viral cultures needed to be re-plated this morning or they'd overgrow the dish and most of them would die. He sighed, such was the life of a research scientist who didn't have the benefit of grad students to do all the grunt work for them. Not much he could do about it up here. You couldn't exactly run any proper programs out in the middle of a tent city. Still, the main compound here had some very nice Level 3 containment facilities for the scientists to use on their projects.

He steped into the antechamber, and quickly divested himself of his outdoor clothes changing into a containment suit. Most of the stuff inside didn't really require it, but given the high mutagen possibilities after prolonged exposure to radiation, no one, least of all Daniel, wanted to take any chances. Shouldering through the door, he prepared to get to work. Strain 4BI14.3 looked promising as a short-lifespan biological agent that could be safely dispersed on a battlefield and would slowly deteriorate due to exposure to atmospheric levels of nitrogen. Of course, that had caused problems culturing it, and cost Daniel several months of work, but it was worth it. The money he would make from the American military would set him up for life. Let alone what the Pentagon had promised to pay him to bury all the details so no other country could get its hands on it.

-

_Tomahawk Helicopter - Four Hundred Miles East of the Irradiated Zone_

Despite the Pentagon's attempts to keep the research buried, people did know about it. A CSIS operative working in the same building had found out about the research during the Halloween bash only three days before. A few calls had gone to the right people and now a small official task force from G.I. Joe was en route.

Grid-iron leaned back in the copilot's chair, watching the mountains of Nepal fall away behind them. The refueling had taken a little longer than they'd originally intended, but they'd still make it to the irradiated zone in time to meet with, Pierce or Price or whatever his name was. Airtight was positively giddy in the main cabin babbling about the advance in viral warfare that this guy had come up with; it positively creeped Grid out. He kind of felt bad leaving Surefire and Suitcase back there to suffer through the running monologue, but he couldn't take it anymore. Condor may be a hard man to talk too about anything, but right now Grid really appreciated the quiet of the cockpit interrupted only by the regular thrumming of the rotor overhead.

Perhaps he could get some sleep on the way once he re-read the man's file.

-

_Research Buildings - South End of the Irradiated Zone_

Daniel slid another plate into the incubator. The bacterial strains were growing better than he had expected, and only a few minor adjustments would be required to increase virulence to a significant level. Not bad for a year's work. If he could prove its effectiveness, he'd be set up for life and be able to retire a very happy man. There was only one problem in proving his work, there was no suitable test population. Yes, there were isolated populations around the world it could be tested on, but full isolation could only be accomplished with a military interdiction of an area, and that would require the involvement of the US military, which he could not afford. Alternately, they could release it somewhere else and rely on the local military to contain it, but that would possibly allow them to obtain a sample, thereby defeating the purpose of a secret weapon.

He blew a little air out between his teeth in frustration. There was little he could do about it, he'd probably wind up having to do further mutations to get it to affect rats or something, and then have to test it in a lab to prove its worth. Which probably meant another years work which he really didn't want to put in here.

The intercom buzzed, his secretary's voice came through, "Dr. Price? One of your holes has developed, the administration is asking for you to take a look at it at your earliest convenience."

Checking the clock on the wall, Daniel found he'd only been out of the irradiated zone for 4 hours, far below the normal safety limits. However, the development sounded promising. A few weeks ago, seismic readings had been taken of an area at the edge of the blast crater and had found that beneath the fused rubble on top, a hand full of small buildings from a residential area still stood. Daniel had just developed a bacterial strain that secreted a highly concentrated form of stomach acid for a completely different purposes, and the decision had been made to seed it over the sites. In short order a series of small holes had developed as the bacteria ate their way down to the caverns below. A short blast with a liquefied toxin would quickly eliminate the bacterial cells so that they didn't eat through anything of value, and the call must have meant that one colony had finally done its job and made it through.

There was no choice, either he had to go out or someone else would go and take credit for the discovery. Price quickly sterilized the area he had been working in, and headed out through the decontamination procedures to make it to the field.

Fifteen minutes later he'd barely made it out into the atrium of his offices when he was accosted by a group of military personal. While, they didn't look like military personnel, all being dressed semi-casually, their bearing was instantly recognizable to anyone who had served in the military, let alone the special forces.

"Can I help you?"

"Greetings Dr. Price," said one of them, skinny and slightly nerdy, "we are here to discuss your current projects, and a reassignment to a new post."

"Sure, in about six hours, I have some work to do in the field, then I need to get some sleep. Feel free to enjoy the hospitality of the base." Daniel knew that they'd do anything but enjoy it, but that wasn't his problem.

The guy in the back lit up like a Christmas tree, "your going out? Can I come with you, I've been dying to get a look at the crater, and a few samples."

One of his companions gave him a withering look, "Dr. Price, allow me to introduce Airtight."

Daniel warily extended his hand, and promptly heard the bones of Airtight's hands crack under the slight pressure he'd exerted, followed by a gasp. Horror washed through him, was his hand contaminated with some of the viruses or bacteria he was working with? Did the man have degenerative bone disease?

"My hand, my hand!"

"Geez man, I'm sorry, quick, the infirmary is ...this..."

Daniel allowed himself to trail off as the other three of the group broke up with laughter, quickly followed by Airtight. He stood there in confusion until one of the men, the one who had introduced Airtight, managed to sputter out an explanation, "fake hand_ *gasp*_ favorite prank _*gasp*_ your face _*gasp*_ priceless." He dissolved into a fit of laughter again.

Daniel allowed anger to well within him, and barged past the men, heading for the ready room to suit up and go out, but the one called Airtight followed him.

"Hey man, I'm sorry about that, its a bad habit."

Daniel kept walking, but his pursuer persisted, "look, we're here to talk about your research, it could be vitally important and we can't allow it to fall into the wrong hands."

"And who precisely," asked Daniel, turning abruptly, "is this 'we'?"

"That's a long explanation."

"Its a 30 minute chopper ride to where we're going."

-

_Ruins of New Delhi, India - 30 minutes later_

Daniel dropped out of the helicopter, his head still reeling from what Airtight had told him about the unit he was with. Though he still didn't have a name for it, he knew that he was being courted by the best of the best. One thing was certain, if he didn't agree to work with them, his research would definitely be disappearing overnight and there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn't worried of his own safety, but his career would be drastically modified either way. Now though wasn't the time to worry about it.

Another man in a hazmat suit approached, "Hello Dr. Price, we've got the rope and tackle all set up for you. The place looks mostly intact, the apartment block across the street that collapsed fuzed together in the street and deflected most of the blast around the house under here, so its almost completely intact. Everything around it is destroyed though, so its just the one house as far as we can tell."

Airtight was leaning over the hole, by rights a house this close to the blast zone should have been vaporized."

"Indeed," agreed the technician, "But because of the arrangement of the three bombs, the apartment block across the street was hit by all three shock waves almost simultaneously, and it basically fused into a giant glassis that protected this house. Its an impossibly small probability, but it seems to have happened here. Will you be going down with Dr. Price, Mr...?"

"Airtight, just Airtight. And yes, I will be."

Airtight hadn't bothered to mention that little detail to Daniel but he wasn't up to arguing the point, someone had to go in as his spotter, so it might as well be him. The two rapelled down the hole made by Daniel's microbes and into what looked like a surprisingly well apointed house. This had been, if Daniel remembered correctly, one of the poorer areas of the city before the blast, but one wall of the room was lined with a bank of technology that looked straight off the factory floor.

"Strange," commented Airtight, "look here, they still have power."

"That's ridiculus, there's no way they..." Daniel's mouth dropped open as Airtight powered up one of the monitors. "Perhaps we should get some support?"

"No need, look behind you."

Daniel urned around and found himself staring at the corpses of three men, each lying on a different level of a bunk-bed. Each wore a simple blue outfit, with a stylized snake head on the chest; three red cloths and matching blue helmets lay on the dresser beside the bunks.

"What happened?"

Airtight pointed towards a series of large steel oxygen canisters, "my bet is that one of these canisters didn't have the oxygen these guys expected and their employers timed whatever was in it to be released while these guys were sleeping. That or the radiation got to them. I'll have to call someone to get into these computer systems to find out more."

"But what were they doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? They planted the bombs. Look at the city map there, those three red pins mark the locations where the bombs were, the green ones the major buildings of the city, the orange circle the blast radius, and the green pin is, I think, this house. See how the three circles converge just before it? They meant for that apartment block to collapse. I'd bet you that if we checked the rest of this house we'd find a generator, water purification system, and more non-perishable food items than you or I would know what to do with."

"They're from the same organization you were telling me about in the chopper."

"Yep, uniforms prove it."

"All right, I'll talk to your organization. The planet needs to be swept clean of these people."

Code Name: Clean Sweep  
File Name: Daniel Price PhD  
Birthplace: Elizabeth, New Jersey  
Rank: E4  
Primary Military Specialty: Chemical Operations Specialist  
Secondary Military Specialty: Biological Weapons


	12. 11 18 2031 Big Ben

**11/18/2031 - Big Ben**  
_  
Tunnels Under Buckingham Palace, London  
_  
Who the hell designed this place, wondered Firefly to himself. A drunken lab rat could have come up with a less confusing maze than they've got under this city. He paused to consult his Blackberry again. Left. Shaking his head, he cautiously rounded the corner, and squeezed two shots off into the back of another palace security guard. This shouldn't have been so difficult. Get in, set the bomb, get out, blow it up.

Five of the six bombs were set though, and there wasn't anyone alive who could find what Firefly hid. Still, something bothered him, who was that SAS* trooper? He'd almost seemed to know what was going on. Well, Firefly smirked, he had until he took half a cartridge in the chest. He wouldn't be telling anyone anything. That's all that was important.

Firefly paused once more to check his exit map. Still 100 meters inside the blast radius, and yet he had over a kilometer to go to get out. He paused. Ah fuck it. Grabbing a pack of C4 from his belt. He slapped it to the ceiling, and carefully inserted a timer into one end. 30 seconds.

He ducked back around the corner. What did it matter now if there was panic in the streets, there would be when the place crumbled anyway, and this way it would help cover his escape.

5...4...3...

He dodged just in time as bullets tore through the space where his head had been a minute ago.

2...

What the hell? That man should be dead! Firefly grabbed the SMG hanging at his hip and triggered another burst towards the SAS trooper he'd left for dead back in the palace. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake again.

1...

Firefly threw himself behind a pipe just as the explosion ripped apart the tunnel to the left of him. The SAS trooper wasn't as lucky. So long sucker, Firefly thought, and charged towards the hole in the ceiling. He grabbed hold of some protruding re-bar to haul himself up through to the city street, when something heavy crashed into him from behind.

"Your a stubborn one aren't you?" Firefly asked, kicking the SAS trooper in the face.

"Not as stubborn as you mate."

Firefly's hand gripped his pistol, and fired off a trio of bullets into the trooper's hip through the bottom of the holster. The man grunted, but let go.

With his opponent blocking the exit Firefly dogged around the next corner and headed towards his original exit, leaving his incapacitated opponent behind him.

-

The SAS trooper picked himself up, and leaned against the wall. His gun was lost somewhere in the rubble, but that had never stopped him before.

Behind him came a voice of one of his men, "Sergent Bennett, are you alright sir?"

"I'll live soldier."

Hand me that, he said, gesturing towards the trooper's gunbelts and light machine gun.

"Sir?"

"That's an order Mr. Ferreira."

Taking the first of the gunbelts from the trooper, Sgt. Bennett wrapped it tightly around his calf where the bullets from the terrorist's gun had torn through flesh and muscle, cutting of the bleeding. He stepped experimentally on the leg, and found he could walk, if painfully.

He threw the second belt over his shoulder and took the proffered gun.

"Oh, and Stephen, would you kindly get someone to deactivate those bombs he left?"

"Someone's already...er...working on it sir."

Bennett started on his way, then paused, "what aren't you telling me?"

"Well...er...the guy who's doing it looks like he out of a bad science fiction film. All dressed in green, and well...I'm not really sure he should be handling explosives..."

"Why not?"

"Well, he's kinda...clumsy."

"Define clumsy."

"He tripped, knocked over a couch, and tore a tapestry...while attempting to bow to King Harry."

"Oh lord. Then I'd better get this ruddy bastard fast hadn't I?"

"Good luck sir."

"Thanks Stephen. Try to keep the palace intact."

"I'll do my best sir."

-

A few hundred meters away Firefly was taking wire-cutters to an old rusted grate. The only obstacle that stood between him and a straight path to freedom from the tunnels, and his escape. His bolt cutters were almost dulled by the rusty old gate, but after a few minutes work he was able to shoulder it open and crawl through.

He paused to check his blackberry once more. Only 50 meters until he was well outside the blast radius. Good. He could trigger it, steal a motorbike and get away in the ... did I just say motorbike? Firefly though to himself. I've been here too long.

...steal a motorcycle and get away in the ensuing confusion before anyone could track him. Anyone in any position of authority who might have seen him was already dead and the security systems would be destroyed along with the palace.

Now, to find that ladder up the storm sewer and this job was over. That would make up for the failure of those fools who were supposed to hit the palace back in April. Almost out.

Ah, here we go. The ladder.

Firefly removed a crowbar from his pack to pry off the cover.

"FREEZE!"

Oh for Cobra's sake...not again.

-

Sgt. Bennett stared down the barrel of the borrowed machine gun at the terrorist.

"FREEZE!"

"Come quietly and I promise you a fair trial!"

The terrorist's only response was to throw something towards the gate Bennett was leaning on for support. He realized too late that it was a flash-bang.

The bright light stung his eyes and the sound deafened him. Bennett only hoped it was temporary, those rock concerts of his youth hadn't exactly helped his hearing. Even blindly he squeezed the trigger of the machine gun, hoseing the tunnel with a spray of bullets in the vain hope of at least taking down the terrorist before he could trigger the explosions.

Bennett stopped firing to listen, then realized how stupid that was. He remembered the hole in the grate, and slid through it, tripping over an intact bar and sprawling to the ground on the other side. He swore and picked himself up only to receive what felt like a boot in the face.

So, the terrorist was still here. A vague recollection of a ladder leading to a sewer grate sprung to mind. The terrorist was trying to get out.

Bennett fumbled for his pistol, managing to pull it from his holster. He triggered a flurry of shots towards the fleeing terrorist, hoping that at least a couple would connect.

He fired wildly until he was out of bullets, and then propped himself against the sewer wall. Either the terrorist was dead, or he would be soon when the explosives went off and the fire tore through these tunnels.

Sgt. Bennett waited.

A minute passed, and then a he felt a hand on his shoulder, he grabbed the arm and threw his opponent, and another seized him from behind.

Another? But there was...

Bennett felt a cold prick on his neck. No...they...he...

Consciousness faded.

-

Bennett's eyes flicked open. He was staring at a ceiling. Not the ceiling of the tunnel he had been in, but...no, that couldn't be right... it looked like a ceiling inside the Palace.

A kindly African-American face leaned over him.

"You all right Sergent?"

"Where is he?"

Another face appeared, this one Caucasian with a Canadian accent, "Some of our men are after him."

Bennett reached for his pistol, his hand closing on air, "And who precisely...hey, where's my gun?"

"You used it on Firefly." The Canadian.

"Who?"

"The masked man you were chasing. Doc, vitals?"

"All clear Hawk. Though I would advise you Sargent Bennett to stay calm and get some rest while your leg heals."

Bennett paused, then grunted, "thanks Doc."

"Just doing my job."

"Rest Sergent," said Hawk, or at least the man Bennett assumed to be 'Hawk', "We have a lot to discuss later."

"One question first."

"What happened to...Firefly did you call him?"

"Our people are in pursuit, but our men got rid of all the explosives before he could set them off. We'll get him. Rest easy soldier.

-

Later that evening, Bennett was walking around the grounds of the Palace. Beside him was the man named Hawk.

"Who are you?" Bennett finally asked.

"Hawk," the man answered simply.

"That doesn't tell me much. What's your affiliation? Unit? MO?"

"Classified, Classified, and we're hunting down the people responsible for Black Thursday."

"Not classified?"

"Only because we want you."

Bennett looked at him, "Just like that?"

"Yes. Keep in mind, you only get asked once."

"What do I need to do."

"Say yes, pick a code name, and get on a chopper in the morning."

"One condition."

"We don't do conditions."

"I want to bring a couple men with me."

Hawk paused, as if considering this, "send me their dossiers. If we need them, they'll join you on the chopper in the morning."

"One last question...er...sir?"

"Hawk is fine. But if it makes you feel better, yes, sir is appropriate."

"Well sir, what do you mean 'code name'."

"Something that we can call you instead of your real name. Your choice."

Bennett leaned on the railing at the edge of the garden, staring out across the city, his eyes falling on the Palace of Westminster. He smiled.

*SAS = British Special Air Service

Code Name: Big Ben  
File Name: David Bennett  
Birthplace: Burford, England  
Rank: E-7  
Primary Military Specialty: Infantry  
Secondary Military Specialty: Subversive Operations


	13. 11 18 2031 Rollbar

**11/18/2031 - Rollbar****  
**_  
London Streets  
_  
"WHERE?" Rollbar yelled into the radio strapped to his collar.

"Left, NOW!" Dial Tone's voice came through his earbud.

Rollbar hauled the Snarler over to make the tight turn. A speeding red double-decker almost ran him over as he shot across the front of oncoming traffic against the light its horn practically deafening him.

"Ok, where is he?"

"You see the terrorist climbing out of the sewer? That guy!"

"No need to get snippy."

"I'm getting sick of you yelling at me ya prick!"

"Shave off the porn-stash and I might be more inclined to take you seriously. Or let me bang your sister. Either way."

"Fuck you."

Rollbar laughed. Dial Tone was so easy to rile up.

In his reverie he almost missed Firefly pull a man away from a Harley and gun it down the street.

"YES! THIS is what I signed up for!" Rollbar whooped and pulled a wheelie between two sluggish vehicles, "it's on! Its on like Donkey Kong!"

"Your not even old enough to remember that game."

"So what? Classics are classics." Rollbar retorted.

Dial Tone sighed, "Patching the GPS tracking of his blackberry to your uplink now."

Rollbar glanced down at the display lodged between his handle bars as he swerved through more traffic. A blinking red dot now led his green. Now lets see...

A quick jerk of the handle bars bounced him up and over the right curb, and into the park.

"What the hell are you doing Bar?"

"He's heading up constitution, he'll have to merge into Duke of Wellington in a minute and have to circle. He'll be heading for the A4202 and onto the A40. It's the fastest way out from here."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, you see, there was this prostitute..."

"Save it," Dial Tone cut in."

"Your loss, its a great story."

Rollbar bounced the Snarler over the grass of Green Park and pulled out onto Piccadilly across from the original Hard Rock Cafe.

"Damn."

"What _now_," asked Dial Tone.

"Once we catch this bastard I'm coming back here for the night."

Dial Tone's end crackled as if someone was grabbing the microphone, "No you damn well are NOT."

"General Hawk! Sir!"

"You will follow Firefly, and then you'll get your ass back to The Cove. No leave. _UNDERSTOOD!"_

"Yes sir! Sorry sir!"

Rollbar was sweating as he rode down the sidewalk towards Park Lane in front of the Intercontinental. He skirted through the traffic entering the roundabout. And finally into the Northbound lane.

Now...where is...Rollbar was almost thrown from the Snarler as another bike crashed into the side of him and sped away.

"Hey watch it ya...oh..."

The engine roared as he tore off in pursuit of Firefly.

"Told you that was a shortcut Tone."

"Lucky guess."

"Was not." Rollbar retorted, swinging around the switchback beside Hyde Park Corner, "Ten will get ya twenty that he's headed to the Harrow Road Flyover."

"Done. So he's headed into Hyde park because?"

"Shortcut, I hope." Rollbar muttered the last two words under his breath, and slewed the bike west, over the sidewalk opposite Curzon Gate, and into the park.

Screaming pedestrians scattered every which way to avoid the two racing motorcycles. Many tourists and locals were lounging under the rows of trees lining the walkway paralleling Park Lane, but no matter how filled the park was, it was far less crowded than the street. Especially given the thread of speeding hunks of man and machine barreling towards them at almost a hundred miles an hour.

"Skidmark, eat your heart out."

A woman pulled her toddler out of the way of Firefly's bike just in time. Rollbar swerved to dodge an old man using a walker on the other side of the pathway. He took his right hand off the handle bars to reach for his pistol and then paused. A near miss in these crowds could kill. He quickly reholstered the firearm and dodged a discarded stroller as the bikes shot out into Tyburn Way, through several lanes of traffic and onto Edgeware Road.

"Bliss Pharmacy...I may need that when I'm done with this." Rollbar muttered, tossing a lose twig that had lodged in his left glove off.

Firefly shot up the street beside the Salt Bar and threw something behind him. At first, Rollbar thought it was merely a fragment of tree, and it was only when it flew by his head and smashed through the windscreen of the car behind him that he realized that it was a crowbar that had been intended to decapitate him. Well, if that's how you want to play it...Rollbar gunned the Snarler to even higher speeds, attempting to close the gap between the two bikes.

"I'm coming for you Firefly."

The game of cat and mouse through traffic continued up Edgeware until Firefly made a left at Harrow road.

"Tone, he's headed west, Harrow Road. Get Roadblock and his crew to set up there."

"LT's got them on the way."

"You owe me 20 by the way."

"No, you owe me ten."

"What the hell? I called it!"

"He didn't use the flyover, he's going beside it."

"Listen you cheep Belgian bastard-"

"Pay up or shut up."

Rollbar ground his teeth, barely making it around a double-decker pulling out of a stop. And followed Firefly across three lanes of traffic towards the A40 Westway. The Snarler's rear wheel bumped against the railing as he pulled onto the flyover, now only a couple car-lengths behind his quarry. Rollbar pulled his pistol and triggered a few shots at Firefly's back, hoping that any misses would impact with reinforced car frame rather than any windows. Firefly responded by dodging between a pair of slow-moving semis, leaving Rollbar with no choice but to slide between them himself, the drop in speed required to make the game costing him precious distance.

The bikes flew through heavy traffic beside Paddington Waterside and out of the area of the city with the Congestion Charge. Only now did Rollbar realize that traffic was only to get heavier and he'd missed his best chance to take out Firefly. Rush hour was only minutes away and the road was going to be gridlocked by the time they made it out of town. An added lane from the south added only more confusion, and the distance between him and Firefly increased even more.

The freeway curved gently to the north. For a minute Rollbar was reminded of the curved tracks he and his dad would race motorcycles around in his youth. Or had until that biker gang had killed him and his two older brothers. Rollbar would never forget the tattoo or the biker gang, a gang he would hunt to the end of the Earth. Their punishment was why he'd joined the military. Someday, somehow the Dreadnoks would pay for what they did to his family.

Lost in his revere Rollbar almost lost control of his bike as the road turned sharply to the south. he shook his head to clear it. No time for distractions now he chided himself, there's a terrorist on the loose and if you don't watch it, he'll get away.

Rollbar gunned it, but at the speeds he was going the Snarler couldn't accelerate any further. It was up to Firefly now, the two bikes redlining as they flew south through the traffic. The road began a gentle curve westward again approaching the M41 Roundabout, allowing him a brief glance of a soccer stadium off to the north of the road before they flew over the traffic interchange. The road now dropped down quickly to ground level. The four story drop allowed Rollbar to slide through a seam in traffic and gain precious ground in his pursuit of Firefly, who was slowed up by a Smart Car changing lanes. Rollbar was still incredulous that anyone thought those cars looked 'cool' enough to drive. But, he paused, I guess someone's got to be the bottom of the bell curve right?

The road headed almost straight west for a brief stretch, and Rollbar made up small increments of distance by running along the median while Firefly dodged through traffic on the larger Harley. The two bikes were almost neck and neck when they shot through the five-way intersection with Old Oak. Oncoming traffic pulled up and horns blared at the two errant motorcycles.

Rollbar tried not to think about the trail of havoc they were leaving as they wound their way north through the freeway. His pistol was out of ammunition from his earlier potshots, and there was no way he was risking drawing a rifle at these speeds. He'd just as likely have his arm ripped off.

The road flew north over two sets of railroad tracks before settling once more into a more or less westbound track. Side-streets of the expansive residential urban sprawl flew past on either side of the bikes, Rollbar tried not to pay attention, instead staying focused on Firefly's back. Some back part of Rollbar's mind registered passing the Hoover Building, meaning he was now somewhere in Perivale before the road passed another suburb and flew under a rail bridge. Traffic was thinning now as they traveled further from the core of the city, and Western Avenue now passed over another traffic circle. Rollbar could no longer place the location, being farther from the city center than he'd ever bothered to be during his last visit. Well, actually, he hadn't left the bedroom much last visit, but still...

A park appeared on the right, and Rollbar hoped that signaled that the chase was nearing the outskirts where Roadblock had set up the...well...roadblock. He couldn't help but be amused by that small symmetry. Firefly's bike sped past another couple subdivisions and a park, and suddenly cut across several lanes of traffic to the far right. Rollbar spied an approaching flyover.

"Dial Tone, he's diverting!"

"So much for your mind reading."

"I think he's trying to shake me."

"No. Ya think?"

"Just tell Roadblock to get ready to move."

"LT's bringing the Tomahawk around now, HD is ready to go with a chain gun."

"Tell him to hold off with the heavy stuff, we're going into a residential area."

"You might want to avoid that."

"Oh sure, I'll just wave my hand at him and tell him to divert. We'll do this dance elsewhere. What do I look like? Luke freaking Skywalker!"

"Prick."

"I heard that."

"I know."

Rollbar prepared to follow Firefly up the ramp when at the last second, Firefly dodged back into the straight away lane. Rollbar was almost caught by the maneuver, but managed to edge himself in front of a Honda Civic to keep up pursuit.

"Back on the main road. Damn I hate this guy."

A second overhead roundabout was coming up. Again Firefly's bike shifted as if to divert. This time Rollbar was expecting the switchback and managed to stay right on Firefly's tail, this time gaining back much of the distance lost during the last trick.

"That won't work twice."

The bikes raced past Northold Air Field at breakneck speed, the city limits within sight now. Two more bridges loomed ahead, one road and one train. This time Firefly didn't even bother with the deception, instead charging is bike through. Rollbar followed, now barely a split second behind. Another road swung overhead and merged on the right.

"Your passing Ickenham," Dial Tone informed him, "Under that roundabout, about a kilometer and you'll run right into our boys. Just before the Denham Roundabout. They've got all the traffic stopped for this."

"Great. Now just give me a ...shit!"

Almost as if he'd heard them Firefly's bike made straight for the off ramp to the last city roundabout.

"Damn it," Rollbar threw the Snarler into a tight turn behind a furniture truck, and just bounced over the curb to make the ramp. He followed Firefly as he turned north and then cut west along a quiet residential street. The street was lined on either side with trees. Up ahead, Rollbar could see some children playing.

"No...oh god no." Rollbar whispered as he saw Firefly draw his pistol.

He reached back to haul his rifle out of his pack, but watched in horror as Firefly calmly shot two children as he roared past.

Rollbar pulled up short so as not to hit any of the scattering children. Screaming erupted from them, and parents and nannys erupted form the surrounding houses.

"Tone, I've got to break off pursuit. There's two kids down here. Get Doc here, ASAP!"

"That will be at least an hour, I'll get city ambulance to you as fast as I can."

Rollbar grabbed the med kit from the back of the snarler and headed for the two bleeding children.

"I'm sorry. I...I just can't leave them here." Rollbar hung his head. "I lost him."

"You couldn't leave them." There was genuine sympathy in Dial Tone's voice. "You did the right thing."

"Your still tracking his phone right?"

"He ditched it when he hit the rail line a few hundred meteres north of you. He knew we were tracking him."

"Shit."

"Some days are just like that. Now go save some lives."

Code Name: Rollbar  
File Name: Reed Williston  
Birthplace: East Greenwich, Rhode Island  
Rank: E4  
Primary Military Specialty: Light Vehicle Operator  
Secondary Military Specialty: Mechanic


	14. 11 28 2031 Scarlett

**11/28/2031 - Scarlett**

_The Rock - Location Classified (Canadian-American Border)_

"Approaching our destination Miss O'hara."

"Can I take off this blindfold yet?"

"Sorry, procedure states that you've got to keep it on until your inside the base." Lift Ticket responded. "Your not the first to be anxious to get it off."

Shana O'hara sighed, "I'd bet not. Who's crazy idea was this anyway?"

"No idea. It came in after I was on the team."

"So, that was...how long ago."

"'Fraid I can't tell you that."

"Figures. What can you tell me?"

"Er...well, your in a helicopter that doesn't exist, on the way to a military base that doesn't exist, to meet with a general who doesn't exist, to interview for a position on a UN military force that doesn't exist. That help?"

Shana allowed her head to hit the back of her seat. "No, not really."

"Ah well. was worth a shot," Lift Ticket chuckled.

-

Lady Jaye watched the Tomahawk descend. She could see LT behind the stick and the new girl, she paused to check her datapad, Shana, sitting in the co-pilots seat, blindfolded. She shook her head at the regulations. Another silly rule introduced for no real reason. Just put them in the back, and black out the windows. Much more comfortable, but apparently someone on the command staff had a thing for the dramatic.

The helicopter settled on the platform, and the overhead doors began to close. Lady Jaye strode up to the fuselage to meet the new arrival while the rotors were still spinning down. The door slid open, and Shana hoped out. She was saying something over her shoulder to Lift Ticket, thanking him for the ride and the conversation. LT was a fine choice to ferry the new arrivals in Jaye's opinion, perhaps the most sociable guy on the team. A few other's weren't too bad either, but Lifeline could be a bit abrasive with his sense of humor the first couple times you met him, Stalker came off as gruff until he got to know you, and Airtight...well, he was likely to put a whoopee cushion on your seat, and use the fake hand gag.

Shana finally turned around. Jaye was a bit surprised, looks like Cover Girl's going to have a bit of competition for 'hot girl' around here.

"Good morning Ms. O'hara. Welcome to the Rock. You can call me Lady Jaye, or LJ for short. I'll be your handler until your officially on the team."

"Handler?" Shana asked with a laugh, "I guess I should grab my leash and start barking then."

Jaye fought down a smirk, "That won't be necessary. If you'll follow me please."

She refused to get to know Shana until she was on the team. Now that there was a decently sized staff in place, the Joes could run any number of smaller operations, so they could afford to interview a few more people for each position, and Shana wouldn't be the first one thrown out within the hour if it came to it. Shaking her head, Jaye had to admit she was surprised how the team had been assembled in 5 months since she'd been recruited. Things moved quickly around here. She smiled, fingering her ring - people too.

-

Shana looked around her as Lady Jaye led her through the hallways. The place seemed to be bored out of solid rock and then finished off. Though the walls and floors near the hanger had been indistinguishable from any windowless military complex, she'd caught glances down new side hallways that were still carved out of stone with wiring and piping being laid into grooves. That obviously meant that they were underground, and the rock suggested somewhere rather rugged without significant dirt cover. The hanger had been close to the surface as the hanger had a retractable roof. Since they hadn't descended there must be next to no soil coverage in the area.

Jaye was pointing out various features along the way, none of them particularly important, so Shana instead focused on memorizing a way out. Better safe than sorry. Though these people may seem nice, the level of secrecy surrounding the operation might have bad consequences if it was decided she didn't belong, and a quick way out may suddenly become a necessity.

The hallway they'd been walking through suddenly opened up into a larger concourse, and Shana gasped in spite of herself. The balcony they were standing on circled the open chamber. An elevator bank sat on the far side, descending, Shana quickly counted, 35 levels below them, and 15 above. Her mind raced. Much of the wall was still bare rock, indicating that the whole shaft was underground. But if the hanger had been just under the surface, that meant...her mind raced. That must mean that this was under a mountain. That was the only thing that would allow the upward growth of the complex without exposing it.

Lady Jaye was leading her around the balcony towards the elevator bank, babbling something about the height and width of the central concourse. Shana wasn't listening, instead she was trying to calculate flight time since she'd been picked up at the Edmonton International. The chopper suggested a relatively short range as it hadn't stopped to refuel at any point. The mountain's size suggested the Rockey Mountains...that meant she was somewhere between Alaska and Mexico, near the west coast. Not that that helped much. Blindfolded and in a chopper, her sense of direction had been shot to blazes, so she had no way of knowing whether they went North, South, or just flew around in really big circles the whole time.

-

Out of the corner of her eye, Jaye watched Shana. She was a bright one, instead of being distracted by what she'd been telling her, she was inspecting the place. Few would have noticed except a fellow intelligence agent. Well, her actions so far put her a distinct cut above the last half dozen that General Flagg had looked at for the position. Perhaps this one had a chance.

Upon reaching the elevators, Jaye pressed the up signal and waited. The car arrived momentarily, bearing a single occupant.

"Good morning Courage, how are you today?"

"Hum? Oh, morning LJ. Busy. Got to go hunt down some guys in..." he trailed off seeing Shana. "Never-mind. Who is this?"

"A newbie."

Courage smiled, "Well, welcome to you. Good luck with the Generals." With a wave, he departed heading towards the hanger.

Jaye stepped into the car with Shana and hit the signal for the 50th floor.

"One word of advice Shana."

"Yes?"

"If you interview with G.I. Joe, don't speak unless your spoken to. The other two are perfectly normal."

"Aren't I interviewing for the team?"

Jaye chuckled, "Sorry, around here the team is referred to as 'the joes'. G.I. Joe refers to General G.I. Joe. Our commander in chief."

"Oh, well, that makes sense I guess."

"He's a nice guy, but he can have a temper."

The car chime intoned "Command offices", and the rear doors opened into a foyer. A young greenshirt at the desk looked up.

"O'hara?"

"Yes."

"This way please."

"I'll be waiting here to escort you when your finished," Jaye said and settled into an armchair to wait.

-

_The Rock - Sparring Room_

Lift Ticket settled himself onto the bleachers beside Stalker and Lifeline.

"So, how was the pickup?" asked Stalker.

"Better than usual, I had a hot red-head beside me for 8 hours. Been a long time since that happened."

Stalker chuckled, "you almost sounded like Shippy there for a minute."

"Hey, I'm not that much of a sleaze. Life, you got any Coke left in that cooler?"

Lifeline looked up from where he was fiddling with the popcorn machine, "probably. Have a look."

"Thanks man."

The machine started popping, and Lifeline resumed his seat. "A redhead, eh? That brings back memories."

"Bree won't be happy with you if she hears that."

"Hum? Oh, no, not like that. There was this redhead in high school. I played the best prank in history on her. I don't know if she ever forgave me." He chuckled, "I always wonder if she got over that."

_The Rock - Fiftieth Floor  
_  
Lady Jaye stood up and stretched as Shana came back around the corner from her interview. The clock had ticked off a full two hours while she waited, and General Hawk had headed down earlier to the sparing ring. Jaye hoped she wasn't too late to catch at least part of the week's rounds. Shana was holding a file folder in her left hand. It was the contents of that folder that determined whether Jaye would get to see the sparing session, or have to spend the next hour throwing her out.

"Well?"

Shana handed her the folder, "looks like your stuck with me."

Jaye smiled, "that's good. If you don't mind, we'll get you settled later today. The weekly sparing match is going on downstairs, and its the closest thing to live entertainment we get around here. You can join me and get to know some other guys on the team, or I can drop you at the cafeteria for some grub."

"I'll join you, might as well get to know everyone."

"Glad to hear it. So, what do we call you?"

"Scarlett."

"Very _Gone with the Wind."_

Scarlett chuckled, "yeah, its what my family always called me when I was younger. I'm sure that's what they would have named me if I'd had hair when I was born."

-

_The Rock - Sparring Room_

Jaye led Scarlett through the doors. Duke was facing off with Quick Kick in the ring. The first sergeant never gave up. Even though he was badly outmatched. She shook her head. On the first set of bleachers she spied Stalker, Lift Ticket and Hawk in conversation while Lifeline had his back turned poking around with the popcorn machine. Well, there were worse things to be addicted to.

"Afternoon boys. Who's in the infirmary?"

Hawk turned, "Afternoon Jaye. So far Lifeline's had a quiet afternoon. Who's your friend?"

"Lieutenant O'hara reporting fo...er...Scarlett sir. Sorry sir."

Jaye was grabbing a drink from the cooler but was sure she saw Lifeline's back stiffen when Scarlett introduced herself.

Stalker burst out laughing, "The new ones are so darn funny when they get all flustered like that. No worries Scarlett, if your military, it takes a while to break the habit, but don't worry, Hawk here doesn't bite. I'm Stalker by the way."

"Nice to meet you Stalker, Hawk. Good to see you again Lift Ticket."

Now Jaye was quite certain Hawk was suppressing a smirk.

"And you. I see you made it through."

"So far."

"And over here, we have our Chief Medical Officer, Lifeline."

Lifeline turned slowly, "good to see you again Shana. How have yo-"

A sharp crack could be heard over the sound of the sparing as Scarlett delivered a vicious slap to Lifeline's cheek."

Heads in the nearest seats looked on in shock. Lifeline shifted his jaw left, then right, checking to see if it was mobile, then turned back.

"Yeah, I probably deserved tha-"

A backhand this time. Same cheek. Scarlett stormed off to the other side of the gymnasium.

Lifeline didn't move until she was well out of earshot. "Still holds a grudge I see. Its been, what, 16 years Clayton?"

"Almost," replied Hawk, "but lets be honest here, you can't really blame her for being mad."

"Your just thankful she didn't recognize YOU."

"Damn straight."

Jaye was thoroughly confused, "you guys know her?"

"Yeah," answered Hawk, "we went to high school together. All three of us."

"What exactly happened?" asked Stalker, curiosity obviously piqued as much as Jaye's.

"Well you see," Lifeline grinned, "back when we were in high school together, I sort of rigged it so she and here boyfriend at the time appeared on stage during prom."

Jaye was even more confused, "What's so bad about that?"

"Well...they were under the impression that the bed they were using was in a private hotel room."

Lady Jaye hesitated for a minute before the implication registered, "You're sick!"

"No, sick would be uploading the video as the new screen-saver to all the Rock's computers."

Hawk leaned over, "you still have that?"

"Please dear god tell me you didn't just ask him that sir."

"I think the man did," said Stalker. "Now here's my question: did the carpets match the drapes?"

"Couldn't tell," replied Lifeline, "all hardwood."

Hawk smirked, "So was half the audience if I remember correctly."

Jaye shook her head. "Your pigs. All of you." With that, she went to go find Scarlett.

Lifeline watched her go.

"What are you thinking?" asked Hawk.

"Oh nothing. Hey Mainframe," he called to the next bleacher, "I've got a little job for you."

Code Name: Scarlett  
File Name: Shana O'hara  
Birthplace: Grand Prairie, Alberta  
Rank: O2  
Primary Military Specialty: Intelligence  
Secondary Military Specialty: CLASSIFIED


	15. 01 19 2032 Madness in Mozambique NEW

**01/19/2032 - Madness in Mozambique**

First Sergent Conrad Steven "Duke" Hauser surveyed the land ahead of him and planned what he was going to do. Hidden in the bush behind him were the other nine members of his recon team. They'd landed at the airport in Maputo, such as it was, and then been trucked up north until they were near the border with Zambia. They'd been left on the side of the 221 highway, just over forty kilometers from the border. From there, they were to make their way across the narrowest stretch of a hundred and seventy-five kilometers of Zambia to sneak into the recently formed nation of Trucia Abysmia. Almost overnight it had popped up and eviscerated territory across Africa from the Atlantic Ocean to the Indian Ocean from a dozen major nations. Mozambique was the closest nation that hadn't given territory in the expansion, but was cut off by the neighbouring countries from access. What was peculiar was that every nation with a direct border had bled at least some marginal amount of territory and yet still maintained treaties with the new nation.

Someone higher up in the G.I. Joe organization had decided that the country merited investigation in relation to the Cobra organization, though it was far from clear why, and Duke had been brought in to lead a team of recently recruited Joes, only Java existed on the official roster as yet. Of course, should anything go wrong it would fall squarely on Duke's shoulders and the officers would deny it. Wasn't the first time he shrugged to himself.

For a moment, his mind flashed back to when he'd been introduced to his team: Dart, the Native-American tracker, Angel, the nurse from New Mexico, Ambush, the camo-man, Java, the techy, Ordinance, the female heavy gunner, all three Canadians, Digger and Dingo, infantry rangers from Australia, and the 'local' man on the job, from South Africa, Boonie-Rat. How on earth they were going to deny being an international operating force with these passports he really had no idea, but it appeared that the brass was betting on at least one of the groups getting favorable treatment from the locals should they be caught; unlikely though that may be.

Dismissing the thoughts he called back to his team "clear ahead to the border it looks like, but there does appear to be a trail a few kilometers to the north. Java, you got anything?"

"Based on the . I've got I'm guessing its a farmer's trail like most of the stuff we've come across," replied the geek hauling himself and his computer gear out from a grove of bushes. "The nearest highway is the big T4 across the border, but it swings in-country a few kilometers in from our penetration point so you probably can't get a good view from here."

"That would be the reason for the clouds of dust on the horizon then. Yep, its a way aways. Dingo, any sign of recent activity?"

"Nothing human in the last several weeks, but I think a fair bit of wildlife was through last week. Just stay away from the villages and farms during the day and we should be good. Dart took off a minute ago to recee that village near the stream and make sure the locals aren't getting curious. He said he'll be back shortly after dark."

Duke sort of resented that he hadn't asked permission first, but he assumed that Dart knew what he was doing. "Alright then, everyone get some food and some rest. When Dart gets back we'll feed him and then move out. I want to be on the other side of the T4 by morning if at all possible."

"Yes sir," they answered as one, settling in to the makeshift campsite. Ambush brought out a flame-less stove to warm a meal on, and a couple shaded lanterns got turned inwards to the center of the camp. Ordinance and Boonie-Rat hung light-absorbing meshes between the trees around the camp for camouflage, and the group settled in for a few hours wait. Digger had departed briefly to refill their water bags at the stream a few miles back east.

Duke leaned back against a tree and watched as the camp came together, occasionally raising the binoculars to his eyes to check the horizon. Within minutes the setup was complete and he was satisfied that his men, and women, were safe. Off to his left he noticed Java unpacking random equipment from his bag. A laptop and satellite dish were predictable, but he couldn't place the third item the tech was hauling out. He ambled over curious.

Java extended four legs, about 8 inches in length from the corners of the device then inverted it. Into a small socket on top he screwed the neck of his canteen, and returned it to an upright position.

"Java, what is that?"

"This?" Java replied, pulling a small cable out of the back of the device and inserting it into a port on the laptop, "USB powered portable coffee maker. I think I have Brazilian Roast in here."

"Of course...why didn't I think of that," Duke sighed.

Pulling a collapsible mug from his pack, Java shrugged, "you really should have seen that one coming."

Duke shook his head and walked off, leaving Java to his work. The sun began to sink towards the horizon and the Joes settled in until dark. Turned out that Angel was actually quite good at preparing a meal in the field. It was actually almost edible.

Dart returned around three hours later, shortly after dusk as he had promised, and made a sucsinct report, "the villagers are all pretty much clustered inside. There's a couple guys wandering around the perimeter, but they don't seem to be looking for anything, just there as a precaution."

"Good," Java replied, "then we can get mov-" he cut himself off, "er, assuming the commander thinks we can."

Duke nodded, "yes. Break camp. We move in ten minutes."

Java was actually a Captain, but he and Duke were the only two who knew that. Due to the nature of the operation, it had been decided that Duke would be officially in charge, and the others kept ignorant of Java's real rank. Security depended on it, even though it might make command decisions in an emergency something of an awkward situation. Still, it wasn't without good reason and Duke knew that, so he simply accepted and ignored it. Besides, it was kind of fun to be able to boss an officer around on occasion. Wasn't often he got to do stuff like that.

Despite having trekked across several kilometers and staked out a potentially hostile village, Dart simply stuffed a few mouthfuls in and then pulled more than his fair share breaking down the camp to move. He'd make one hell of a Joe, Duke though, making a mental note to put in a commendation to command when they got back to base.

"Boonie Rat, Dart, you two are on point. Digger, Dingo, you guys are drag."

"But I only brought my man clothes," Dingo complained.

"Really?" asked Ambush, pretending to start rooting through Dingo's pack, "I'm sure I saw some lacy panties in here earlier."

"Just raided Ordinance's pack," grinned Dingo; then blanched at the look that Ordinance gave him, "only kidding, only kidding!" He threw up his hands as if to ward off an attack.

"You'd have to be," Ordinance replied icily, "I always go commando."

Anyone who hadn't been paying attention to the conversation suddenly snapped their heads around, and now that she had everyone's attention Ordinance grinned and laughed, "so, what are we waiting for?"

Java leaned over to Duke, "you think she was serious?"

"Aren't you married?"

"Hey now, I was just asking. Curiosity that's all."

"Sure it was. Suuure it was."

The team fell out, efficiently and quietly. Despite the fact that the only danger was the wildlife, it was still not wise to draw attention to themselves. Though leopards and wild dogs didn't carry Uzis in Duke's experience, they were more than compensated in the way of edged weaponry and the strength to use it. Any slog through jungle like this carried with it the associated dangers. Even though the large cats tended to stay close to open plains where they could hunt the larger game, there were often stragglers in here that preyed on the primate species that dotted the trees overhead. Then of course there were the usual aardvarks, squirrels and other creatures that ran across their path occasionally, but posed no immediate threat, other than the potential to attract poachers.

Thankfully, the first two hours of the journey progressed in relative peace, except for when the group of monkey's, Bushbabies according to Boonie-Rat, had decided that Dart looked like an interesting toy for their amusement. He was still trying to get the shit off his uniform by the grumbling Duke could hear up ahead. They'd generally headed north, parallelling a small river for the first hour and had now turned northwest towards the border with Zambia, which, by the tug Java had just made on Duke's sleeve, they had just crossed. Here was where things got difficult, while the Mozambique government had unofficially been aware and supportive of their presence, their opposite numbers in Zambia didn't, and likely wouldn't be too happy about the unannounced visit from a team of special forces using their country to gain access to their neighbour to the north.

Duke however, was pleased. They were averaging just over five kilometers per hour on foot, which was excellent, they'd be far ahead of his estimate come sunrise, and hopefully in deep enough forest to stay hidden with ease through the daylight hours. If at all possible, he didn't want to have to use Ambush's skills to keep them hidden near prying eyes. There was just too much risk involved.

Moving ahead in the column, Duke tapped Ordinance on the shoulder, and they moved forward to relieve Boonie-Rat and Dart; behind him, he knew Java was taking Ambush as the new drag team. The two pairs that had been on duty would rest in the middle of the group for a while, before switching rolls in two hours. Angel was the only one spared from duty because they couldn't risk their only medic on perimeter duty. So long as things remained quiet however, it wouldn't matter.

Half an hour passed, and then the group had reached the edge of a small valley. It cut through the jungle, doubtless worn by some long-disappeared river. However, it was vital to their mission. On their way through Zambia they crossed roads in two locations, the one here, and then a tight cluster near the northern border. Between there they were able to avoid them for the most part only parallelling one but cutting through wilderness for the majority of the journey. It was only in the far north of Zambia that problems arose when they had to cross several miles of unprotected farmland. But that would be worried about three days hence.

In response to Duke's signaling, Boonie-Rat and Dart returned to the head of the column and led the way down into the valley. The group was closer together now, less worried about detection en masse, then losing each other in the press of growth that filled the valley. Thankfully, the valley ran an almost perfect course towards the northwest, allowing a simple following of the lowest point there was. At this hour of night, there was absolute silence on the highway ahead, and Dart almost stumbled on the dirt road before any of them were aware of its proximity. The road entered the valley on a curve in both directions, and their crossing had been planned to allow them a slight warning if any vehicle was to approach, however the absence of any noise proved that to have been unnecessary. Still, they were cautious, the capital of Lusaka was a straight drive to the southwest, and to the northeast was Nyimba. Though it was only a small village, Nyimba was apparently being used as a staging point for the nation's military in recent months so the danger of detection was highest at this exact moment in the journey. Despite the feeling that there were eyes focused on him, Duke gestured for his team to cross, and they then waited on the far side. Nothing happened, and, so far as anyone in his group could tell, nothing moved. They proceeded.

Another hour of hiking along the valley floor brought them to the next stage of their journey, for here the valley ended as it rose to meat a cluster of low, yet pointed hills that stood between them and a river that could be faintly heard rushing on their other side. It marked where their path turned more northerly towards the border. Duke and Ordinance returned to the head of the column. No one had spoken since before they crossed the border, but nothing needed to be said. They were far enough from any civilization that discussion was likely no longer a danger, but Duke still felt the off-putting sensation of eyes watching him from every side of the jumgle.

They passed through the lee of a single peak, before reaching the gradual slope to the, Duke racked his brain for the name, ah yes, the eastern arm Luangwa River. To the southwest it joined with its western half, but that was beyond Duke's concern. For the moment, his interest lay with hoping that no one from the villages that dotted the length of the river had decided to take a night-time stroll this far from home and to get his men across safely. The river was too deep to ford here, and it had been impossible to pack any watercraft, so the crossing had to be accomplished the difficult way. Ordinance had been supplied with a modified launcher capable of firing a cable from one location to another, and from that, a heavy-gauge rope was strung from the hill on their side of the river to the other, designed to slope downwards enough to allow them to zip-line from one bank to the other. Though there was a small sandy island in the middle of the river at their chosen crossing point, Duke had little desire to use it except in an absolute emergency, he doubted that it would be strong enough to grip the rope well enough for it to hold the weight of the crossing party.

Once the rope was strung, Ordinance was the first to cross, being the lightest other than Angel. The rope held through the next seven Joes, and finally it was Duke's turn. He had the hardest job, having to cut the rope on his end of the bank and be dragged across the water by the team pulling him to the other side. His gear was already over there so as not to get soaked, but he wasn't particularly looking forward to a swim. But as always, the mission came first, and he slashed the rope free and dove in. Still the sensation of being watched followed him, but he put it down to the troop of monkeys resting in the bushes near the waters edge. The current was stronger than Duke had anticipated, but he had little doubt that eight Joes would be capable of overcoming it.

Waterlogged and somewhat cold, despite the usually oppressive heat, Duke emerged on the other side of the river and the team gathered their gear before continuing up the slope from the river to the ground above. Until now, the terrain had been relatively smooth, but for most of the rest of their crossing of Zambia it would be rough and irregular, and there was no way to avoid it without adding a full day, numerous kilometers, and a greatly increased chance of detection.

However, it took an hour to reach the crest of the up slope from the river before they could see before them the undulating terrain they would have to cross. The journey was made with the utmost caution in single file because the slope was completely barren of trees. Only a long brown grass covered their tracks, and Ambush trailed behind the group carefully arranging it to conceal their passage. Seven hours had passed since they originally broke camp and dawn would be breaking soon, but they had to get into the tree cover in one of the valleys ahead and gain cover. This was dangerous as the village of Chitambo was a mere two to three kilometers distant. However, continuing their march during daylight hours was even more likely to draw attention to themselves. However, there were small hollows between the hills ahead, and hopefully one of them would provide sufficient concealment from the locals.

It was an uncomfortable rush, but an hour later, Ambush and Boonie Rat were hanging the concealment blinds around their camp, nestled in a tight-packed group of trees, sandwiched between two rocky outcroppings. The space was incredibly tight, but impossible to see from any angle, and even on the reverse slope of the mountain from the village.

"Relax Duke," Java said, resting a hand on his shoulder, seven kilometers over rough terrain is pretty far for a villager, and we're well hidden."

"They _are_ hunters Java. If their prey comes this way, we could be in trouble."

"You worry too much."

"Better too much than too little. Besides, I've had this creeping feeling most of the night that we were being watched."

"Yeah, so did we all, but its a jungle, there's stuff everywhere. Even if things _were _watching us, we're not going to be in any trouble. Besides, I haven't felt that way since we crossed the river. Have you?"

"No," Duke admitted, "I haven't. But it still bothers me that I did at all."

"Chock it up to a jaguar or something. Here, have some coffee and relax."

"Somehow, that seems a contradiction in terms."

"Suit yourself," Java shrugged and wandered off for the three feet the camp allowed, "more for me."

Duke shook his head and decided to take Java's advice, he did need to rest, and there was likely nothing wrong. They hadn't seen a living sole since they crossed the border, or even before, there was no reason to suspect they would now.

"Ambush. Dart. You two are the first watch, rotate off in two hours."

"Got it."

"Yes sir."

Shaking his head to calm himself, Duke unrolled a thin blanket to pad the ground and promptly went to sleep.

He was awoken six hours later when Ordinance's boot prodded his side, "your turn boss. Nothing new since you conked out. Except a monkey decided to shit on Dart again."

"Thanks, get some more rest."

Boonie Rat was his partner on this leg of the watch, and the two settled in leaning against a pair of trees, facing out through camouflaged holes in ther netting. A porcupine could be seen lumbering along outside their makeshift enclosure, but nothing else of note.

"So, boss, why are we really here?"

"Excuse me Boonie Rat?"

"I mean, what's the real purpose of our mission. Its obviously not to infiltrate Trucial Abysmia, or we would have gone in along the coast. Admittedly we're closer to Lubumbashi now, but it would have been a lot simpler to get in country rather than have to cut across Zambia. That seems like we're asking for trouble."

"I'm afraid I have no idea what your talking about Boon."

"Of course not," he rolled his eyes. "You know, I really hate this 'need to know' crap. Lets put aside the fact that there's no one from intel on this mission for a moment, which is kinda bluntly obvious on its own. I took a look at the team's roster before we left. Only you and Java are on it, and yes, I know he's a captain. It seems like we're being set up to be screwed on this, and I don't like it. I know Digger and Dingo found out about it too, and its causing no little bit of dissension."

"I'm sorry,' Duke sighed, "I really am, but I can't tell you anything else."

Boonie Rat opened his mouth to reply, closed it, and then opened it again, "I understand. I've been on crazier cock-and-bull missions than this, so I've got your back, but watch out for the others, they aren't very happy about things."

"Thanks for the heads up. So long as everything goes smoothly we won't have to worry about it."

Boonie Rat nodded looking like he was about to say something more, then subsided. Duke shrugged and climbed up a few branches in the tree to get a better look. His binoculars revealed a cloud of dust to the southeast that appeared to be stationary. That meant it was likely from a moving vehicle or vehicles, either moving towards or away from their current position. A moment's observation of the trees determined that whatever it was was headed towards them, at a fairly considerable clip.

"Everybody up!" Duke dropped down to the ground. Around him, Joes were up immediately, and snatching for gear. "We've got vehicular incoming, roughly six clicks southeast. You have two minutes to grab everything then we go."

Frantic activity followed. As per their training, only the minimum amount of equipment required was ever unpacked at the campsite and was immediately stowed away whenever not in use. Other than the camouflage and the few pieces of bedding they had used during their rest, everything was already packed. Duke checked his watch, just after 1pm. This was incredibly inconvenient, the brightest light and hottest heat of the day, and they were going to try and run from guys in trucks. Their only advantage now was the terrain that they had complained so bitterly about the night before. While it would slow their progress slightly it should completely inhibit whatever vehicles were behind them.

"Ambush?" Duke checked.

"They'll know someone was here, but if we keep to the low grass they shouldn't be able to track us."

"It'll have to do then. You and Boon on point; Digger and Dingo on drag with me. Double time."

The race was on. Duke took a minute to shimmy back up the tree and look at the approaching cloud. It was still at least five kilometers off by his estimation, so they couldn't be moving faster than 30 clicks an hour. The terrain was having the desired effect, but that was still more than fast enough to overtake his team within an hour. Two at the outside if they had to search for them. Things were not good. He dropped and hurried off after the rest of his team cursing their luck. Hopefully it was just poachers, but the proximity to at least one village along the river and the relative sparseness of game around this region suggested that they were after bigger game; Joes.

They ran, more or less flat out straight along the pre-planned course. Java had moved to the front helping to keep them on course. Every few seconds Duke would glance behind him, expecting to see angry military men with rifles chasing them, even though he knew they were still kilometers behind. Eventually he calmed himself, beginning to believe that the sighting had been a mere coincidence. Thankfully, they had not encountered any animals on their flight through the forest that would be disturbed and leave an easy trail of chaos to track even were they being followed. But they did not let up. Even if it was merely poachers, any contact at all could be disastrous and they all knew it.

The group reached the crest of the last hill before the ground flattened once more after forty-five minutes of running, and Duke called a brief halt to climb up a nearby tree and check behind them. For a half a second after lifting the binoculars, he was overjoyed to not see the dust cloud anymore, but then caught site of where the camp had been located. Parked in a clearing near the area were two jeeps and a troop truck and military personnel were swarming the area. Or rather, he realized, swarming back into the truck as one of the jeeps kicked into gear and began following the trail towards his party.

"Well?" called up Ordinance, sounding tired and frustrated. "Where are they?"

"Leaving our old campsite and following us," Duke answered honestly.

"There's no way they could follow us," protested Ambush, "I made sure of the terrain!"

"There's no way they should have found us in the first place either," Duke added, climbing back down, "especially since they didn't follow us over the border. They came from up north."

"From Nyimba you mean?" queried Ordinance. "That's_ definitely_ not a good sign."

"Sounds like we might have been sold out," Digger growled.

"Lets not jump to conclusions," Duke replied soothingly. Booney Rat's earlier warning about dissent was now ringing in his ears. "The only people who knew about our mission were us, and a couple of officers back at The Rock. No one of them would have sold us out."

This was met with grumbling by most of the team, though Duke couldn't make out what the specific complaints were. As much as he wanted to dispel these beliefs, he couldn't now, because he didn't have time. Right now his only concern had to be getting them off their planned course and away from the pursuers.

"Java, what's the map got for us ahead?"

"Er...OK, we cross this flat stretch through the grass, and then we cut across another section of the Ngombe Hills."

"Let me see that," Duke consulted the GPS for a moment. "OK, across the grass, don't bother covering our tracks, we want them to find a bit of a trail then into the hills. Once we're under forest cover, we're going to swing back to the southeast and dogleg around the villages of Chimafu Singwendi and Kanukawanga. Then we'll cut off to the northeast and curve back to parallel our originally planned course so we can continue. Dart, can you figure out where we go for that?"

"Yeah, I'll do it as we go."

"Good, you and Java on point. Ordinance, your with me on Drag. Move out. Run."

Duke knew that behind them the vehicles would be slowed by the trees, but they would still be at least as fast as his tired squad. Likely faster, and there was little to nothing that they could do about it. He just had to hope his plan worked. They managed to cross the grassy clearing without incident, and were soon in the trees, Dart led them on a sharp reverse turn and began sliding expertly through the bush. The column tightened up as they followed as closely as possible in his footsteps, doing everything possible not to disturb the undergrowth. Their planned path would have led them through relatively heavy growth for a kilometer or more, and hopefully that would give them enough time to get away from whoever was after them. In two places they had to ford relatively shallow streams, and each time Duke preyed that the splashing noises they made wouldn't draw attention, but thus far they had been lucky. Their path curved slightly back towards the ground they had just covered and then to the northeast near enough to the tree-line for Duke to keep a watch on the clearing.

Only minutes after they had diverted their path the pursuing vehicles cleared one line of trees and came upon the path they had left in the grass. Duke signaled a halt and prepared to wait it out. The pursuers didn't even pause, following the path in a straight line and then continuing into the tree cover along the route that they would have taken. There was no doubt now, whoever they were, they were after the Joes.

Relaxing only slightly from having avoided a confrontation, the Joes continued northeast, and Duke slid up the column to Dart.

"Can you get us on a course that's roughly parallel to the one we're supposed to be taking, but keeps in the underbrush?"

"That's going to be tricky. There's a lot of open ground between the rivers. I can do it, but we're going to have a full day's hike to the northeast before we can get back on course."

"We have no choice."

"All right then, then there's just this one open area ahead that we're going to need to ...oh no."

Dart had frozen in place, a look of stricken horror on his face. Duke didn't want to, but he turned his head in the same direction. The vehicles that had been chasing them hadn't been fooled by their course change, but rather than pursue them, they had circled around the tree-cover they were using, and were now positioned in the open field that they had to cross to escape. Troops were spilling out of the truck, and the two jeeps had their machine guns pointed towards the tree line. Duke's group were still far enough in to be concealed from view, but it was only a matter of time before they were spotted. If they delayed, it was guaranteed that some of the soldiers would be sent in to find them.

"Crap." Duke couldn't think of anything else to say. "All right, make for Luembe."

Dart looked at the map, "Luwembe with a W or Luembe without one."

Duke looked at the device in his hand, "they're practically on top of one another, does it matter?"

"Well, which one do you know someone in?"

"Neither! But they should have boats, or be near a ford if they're that close to the river. We need to get across and back to Mozambique. Get away from these people. We'll try to get in some other way."

"But what about the mission?" Dingo spoke up from behind him. "We can't abandon the mission because there's a hint of trouble. What kind of Sergeant are you?"

"The kind that doesn't get my men killed," Duke retorted. "Ordinance, get up here. Can you blow the jeep on the right? That should give us a bit of cover to make our way across the open ground without getting killed."

"That still leaves one of them though."

"Once you fire one, they're going to hit our position with everything they've got. We have to get out of their line of fire, and if we can put the burning wreck of one jeep between us and them it should give you enough time to reload."

"OK boss, you've got it."

"Good. Boon, get a few grenades ready. When we break cover you and I are going to play grenadier to keep the infantry occupied."

"Yes sir."

"Shouldn't we be more worried about who sold us out?" asked Nurse. "You said it couldn't be someone at The Rock, so it has to be one of us. I don't fancy being shot in the back."

"If it was one of us," Duke replied as calmly as he could, "we'd all be dead by now."

"Unless they want us alive," Digger added.

"What's say we escape this, then dicker about who sold us out latter hmm?" Ambush asked in frustration. "We'll have plenty of time to flay the hide of the traitor later, but I for one would rather not die in this hell-hole of a jungle."

"Agreed, listen to Duke, lets get our asses out of the fire," Java spoke up.

The discussion ended in another round of grumbling, but each member of the team did as they were told, much to Duke's relief. Now was not the time to be breaking down. Ahead of them lay a good two kilometers of open territory and a stream that they would have to cross, while under fire, without getting killed. It was impossible on paper, but then again as Hawk always said, impossible was a soldier's job, or something like that.

"Ready," Ordinance announced softly.

"Boon?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Then lets do this. FIRE!"

The rocket had barely left the launcher braced on Ordinance's shoulder then the Joes were in motion. It took a few seconds to clear the tree-line, but the blast from the destroyed jeep was still clearing and the soldiers were in complete disarray. Apparently, Ordinance had been lucky enough to hit the ammunition for the machine gun mounted in the back as it was still sparking and flaming. A few stray shots came their way, but grenades quickly quietened that for the time being. Dingo and Digger were covering Ordinance as she reloaded on the run. No easy task, but it seemed she was managing it. Ambush and Dart were blazing a trail as fast as the others could follow. Duke threw his last grenade, and unslung his rifle. He'd rather hoped he wouldn't have to use it on this mission, but there seemed to be little choice. A few bursts and he ran. For the moment, no one appeared to be following them, but that was only a matter of...ah...seconds, he thought to himself as the other Jeep bounced around the flaming wreckage of the first.

"ORDINANCE! FIRE!"

Booney Rat was firing heavily at the machine gunner, but his shots were bouncing off the metal shield around the barrel, but it kept the man from returning a properly aimed fire which, right now, was saving lives. Ordinance dropped to one knee and fired - it was right about then that Duke realized just how quickly the Jeep was headed towards him. The rocket struck the vehicle in the engine and it exploded. Duke was thrown to the ground, shrapnel burning his face. He rolled, hoping he wasn't on fire. He wasn't.

The infantry was obviously still occupied enough with their wounded, so they ran.

It took them nearly two hours to reach the river, and by that time, another pair of jeeps with a troop carrier had caught up with them. The native villagers fled from the erupting gunfight as they battled their way through the village. Ordinance took all three of her remaining shots to take out the two jeeps, but they managed to hold off the attack long enough to make it to the river and into an abandoned boat.

On the other side, they could just make out a handful of the surviving soldiers looking across the river at them, and probably radioing back for reinforcements. Duke had to make a snap decision, and one he didn't like.

"We're going to split up."

"What?" Dingo asked startled. "That's a horrible idea! We need to concentrate our forces, not disperse them."

"They're going to follow us anyway," Duke countered, "and we can't complete the mission if we all get caught. Java, Ambush and Dart will hide wherever Ambush can find until midnight, the rest of you come with me, and we'll lead them off to the south. We're going to try and get back into Mozambique. You three will try and complete the mission now that your opposition has been drawn off.

Ambush nodded, "you've got it boss. Come on."

"What happens if they follow them?" asked Digger. "Then the whole mission's screwed because of this. We should stay together."

"That's not an option anymore," Duke replied, fighting to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "We've been made somehow, and we need to get out of here, and those three can accomplish the mission without us. Face it, we're all here for fire support, and what better way to give it than leading the opposition away. Now shut up and move out."

Boonie Rat gave Duke a slight nod of approval from the back of the group, but the rest of the Joes coming with him had positively mutinous expressions on their faces.

"If we're lucky," he said coming up to Duke, "we can keep under the canopy until we're near Inhamambo."

"Which is where?"

"Just over the borer in Mozambique. It will take until morning if we hurry, but hopefully they won't be in the mood to follow us over the border."

"I'd believe that a little more if I didn't hear plane engines in the distance. They're looking for us. Hopefully Ambush can keep himself under cover."

"He'd better, or we're all screwed."

Duke shook his head, "nothing we can do about it. All right, move out!"

The others fell in behind, and they hurried southward, hoping to reach the border before they were found. Ambush, Dart and Java had moved off to the north, probably planning to hide in the dense growth that surrounded the river in that direction. Duke's group wasn't as lucky. While the forest covered much of the territory towards the south that they needed to cross, it was a lot more spartan, and provided very little cover. If the planes he was hearing had any air-to-ground weaponry, they would be in a very bad way. Then there was always the possibility of running into other infantry and having only light cover. No matter how he looked at it, Duke came up with a lose-lose situation.

He led them through the bush, heading south as fast as they could move. Every step of the way, Duke was thanking some higher power that the dire situation that they found themselves in was keeping the rest of his group quiet. The conversation would be far from pleasant he knew, and a few hours of quiet would do them all a lot of good. The sun was sinking towards the horizon once more as the day began to close, reminding Duke that it had been almost twenty four hours since their excursion began. During which time no Joe had had more than six hours sleep and in which they'd walked or run well over fifty kilometers. Probably closer to a hundred now.

By the time they reached the T4, Duke was having a hard time not falling asleep on his feet; he was dead tired, and he could tell by the increasing grumbling behind him that the others were in no better shape. But relaxation was not to come. Apparently someone had figured out where they were likely to cross, and a group of a half dozen jeeps , one tank and, at Duke's nearest guess, at least a hundred infantry, were stationed in a cordon across the road.

"You son of a bitch!" cursed Ordinance, "you lead us into a trap!"

"Shut up! We're actually IN Mozambique. The highway swings across the border for a little big here, I figured it would be easiest to sneak across this way, but apparently the Tanzanians aren't particularly worried about what country this is. We'll just go around them. QUIETLY! There's a point a few kilometers from here where-"

Duke was cut off by a shout from the roadway, someone had caught sight of them, and the spotlight on top of the tank swung towards them.

"SCATTER!" hollered Boonie Rat. Barely had they followed his advice when the infantry opened fire.

Duke crashed behind some shrubbery beside Ordinance.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" she hissed. "Find your own cover."

"How about you take out that tank."

As if to emphasize the point, a shell from the tank's main cannon crashed through the trees and exploded behind the Joes, lighting the forest on fire for a sizable distance. Of course, Duke realized, they were cutting off any retreat, and trying to trap them.

"I'd have to get close to it to do that numbskull," Ordinance answered. "I used up all my rockets on the last two ambushes. Remember?"

"Don't snip at me," Duke countered, "I was the guy standing in the open giving you cover fire."

"Yeah, the guy that a couple dozen infantry didn't manage to shoot, even though he was standing still with no cover. I'd say that was a bit suspicious."

"Even though I was shooting grenades at them?"

"No one is that bad a shot, and even if they were, not when there's that many. They found us somehow _Duke_," she sneared the name, "and they've followed us and cut us off at every turn. You can't tell me that's just dumb luck. Someone's selling us out, and since your the one making the plans..." She let the sentence trail off. "I'll go try to blow the tank. If you don't get me killed first."

Duke riled at the suggestion of his disloyalty, but had no choice but to let the conversation drop. He had a few charges left for his grenade launcher, not many, but enough to clear out the infantry from around the tank he figured. So he loaded the first round and sent it sailing into a group of ten tightly packed infantrymen. The explosion blew them apart, managing to take a few other nearby soldiers with them. After the shot he moved quickly to a new position as the enemy's fire converged on his position. Machine gun rounds from the jeeps sprayed wildly through the trees, scything around chest height, providing an effective way to keep the Joes' heads down. A spray of the rounds knocked chunks out of a tree as Duke passed by and they gouged deep marks on his left cheek, missing his eye by mere inches.

Thankfully with the fire behind the Joes, the soldiers had to squint against the unusually bright light, while the Joes had their targets completely illuminated. Duke could see other streams of fire plucking off infantry from various positions on the road, and another managed to deflate the tires of one jeep, but the return fire was proving ineffective, particularly because it was hard to trace the path of the bullets back to their source in the undergrowth. Every member of the team was following their training well though, their fire never coming from one location for longer than fifteen seconds at a time. He was fairly certain he could count four distinct locations of fire which meant Angel was adding some small-arms weaponry to the mix. It wouldn't be enough to punch through the body armor of the soldiers, but it could at least distract them. He hoped that she didn't make herself a target, because they were probably going to need medical help to get out of this.

Right now, numbers were their primary advantage. His group could pick any target and open fire without any hesitation. Even if they missed, they were likely to hit something or someone else. By contrast, every member of the infantry barricading the road had to carefully hunt through the undergrowth for their target, or risk wasting a good amount of ammunition on a plant.

The last grenade almost jammed in the launcher as he loaded it, and Duke could already see that he hadn't cleared enough of the infantry away for Ordinance to make her run. The tank lobbed another shell over behind where two rifles were firing, presumably Digger and Dingo and they fell silent for a second before opening up again from a few yards away. The fire was spreading now, slowly reaching towards the road. Normal shells wouldn't have had that effect, so they had to be using incendiary rounds. Very practical against infantry in an area as thick with growth as this one, Duke reflected. Unfortunately, he didn't have any similar tricks up his sleeve. Well, there was one, but it would probably get him killed. Ah fuck it, who wants to live forever right?

With a undulating battle cry, Duke charged out onto the road and fired the last grenade out the muzzle of his rifle. It exploded in the front seat of the nearest jeep, just as he had hoped, killing the driver and the gunner. The shrapnel from the vehicle tore through a group of nearby infantry, seriously wounding, but probably not killing, most of them. Duke dived for the opposite side of the road, and he felt rather than heard several streams of fire tracing his movement as they tore through the undergrowth around him. A single bulled sliced through his right arm, mostly grazing him, and another would have shattered his knee if it had been an inch to the right. Hopefully the other Joes would take advantage of the action and pick off the infantry around the tank so that Ordinance could -OOF!

Speak of the devil, Duke thought to himself as her lithe body crashed on top of his, "your not getting away so easily creep!" she said, cracking him across the jaw with her rifle.

"What the fuck Ordinance? I was drawing their fire so you could-"

The tank, or rather something Ordinance had put under the tank, exploded loudly, showering the road and foliage on both sides of it with more shrapnel. A metal plate scythed through the air just inches over Ordinance's head.

"that," Duke finished his sentence.

"Sure you did," Ordinance gave him a nasty glare. She was bleeding from superficial wounds to the forehead and cheek, and the arms of her uniform were pretty baddly torn up, probably from sliding under the tank, Duke figured, but he never had the chance to ask her. She was already up and picking off the few remaining infantry who still clung to the battle scene. The smarter ones had piled into the one still functional jeep and had taken off down the road to the north, doubtless for reinforcements.

Duke helped pick off the last few, and then waited on the road while the rest of the Joes assembled. Boonie Rat immediately started picking over the bodies of the dead, pulling any ammunition that fit the team's weapons.

"You!" Dingo shouted angrily, "you tried to escape and abandon us."

"I was drawing their fire," Duke protested angrily. "You picked off almost two dozen of them because I risked my skin."

"Don't pretend t obe the hero," Digger interrupted, "we all know what you were really trying to do. You just wanted to lead us into this trap so you could have your buddies there pick us off an-"

"That's quite enough!" shouted Boonie Rat. "If you guys have an issue with his decisions, we can discuss them when we get somewhere and can call for reinforcements. Ambush is going to need them. Until then, he's the ranking and we follow him. He shot just as many of them as you did, and without his help Ordinance would never have taken out that tank. So shut it, or I'll personally shut you!"

Stunned silence descended for a moment. Duke hadn't been expecting the support, and clearly the others hadn't either, but he was far from complaining about it. Using the shift in momentum to regain control of the situation, he began issuing orders, "Angel, Ordinance and Digger look like they need medical attention. Dingo, you help Boonie Rat and I scrounge whatever ammo we can get. We probably only have a few minutes; the village of Kachalola is only a few kilometers up the road and they could have support stationed there. We move as soon as everyone's patched up."

Reluctantly the others agreed, and Boonie Rat gave Duke an almost imperceptible nod.

Ambush's group was having an easier time. When the two groups had split off from each other, he had led Dart and Java into a small cluster of trees that were coated with vine. The camouflage nets had been almost unnecessary, but he wasn't taking any chances, and after less than an hour of waiting, his stubbornness was borne out. A column of three jeeps and two troop transports had passed, clearly following the other Joes. A dozen or more infantry had passed within an arms reach of their hiding spot, but hadn't noticed them. Even after they passed, Ambush refused to move, not trusting even the cover of the canopy to conceal them from the aerial surveillance. Their rest had only been disturbed by the arrival of a Mozambique Spitting Cobra, a rather unpleasant species of snake that turned out to taste rather good.

Only once evening had fallen did he allow them to move, and then he still forced them to march to the northeast parallel to the river, taking them nearly twenty kilometers from their starting path before crossing the river. Eventually they crossed back through a river valley and entered a stretch of trees on the north side of the river again. Java had only been able to connect sporadically to the intel satellites for the last few hours, so there was no way to contact The Rock for an update, but there was little choice. All they could do now was to follow this spur of jungle back to their original course and hope Duke and his group made it.

Barely had Duke's group left the road when another set of military vehicles arrived, hot on their trail. Their commander hesitated only a minute to survey the battle scene before following the trail Duke's group had left for him. The man's name was Captain Kutisha; no one knew his first name. He had served the last three military governments in the same position: enforcer. He had a single job description, hunt down and kill whoever the current administration asked him to. He was very good at his job. Two weeks ago the Zambian government had received a message from an anonymous source that their country was about to be infiltrated by a covert military operation. After a week's work they had ascertained that the intelligence bore true, and Captain Kutisha had arranged for one of his operatives to secrete a tracking beacon into the medical bag of one of the soldiers sent to infiltrate his country. He had followed their progress from his mobile command center, and was now following them personally.

They had managed to take on two of his squadrons of pursuit, but they were walking into his trap. The force on the highway had been given orders to capture them if at all possible, but he hadn't expected them to, not in the open like that. Instead, that force had served as a distraction and delay to allow his trusted Ensign Tuako to set up a larger, more formidable ambush at Inhamambo with a reserve force stationed in Zambue if they managed to make it past the first ambush. They would have to stop in the village if only to orient themselves using the forested hill which abutted the village. It was in this cover that his men hid and prepared their ambush. If his calculations were correct, the men infiltrating his country would likely stop there before daybreak to make camp before crossing the open plains in this area of Mozambique. Being across the border, they would think themselves safe, but they were the farthest thing from it. He laughed with glee at his brilliance.

Unfortunately for Duke, Kutisha had been completely right. After leaving the highway, Duke had noticed the time, and how slow his forces were moving after spending an entire day on the march, punctuated by a pair of frantic, life-threatening engagements. He had little choice but to make for the nearest cover he could find on the Mozambique side of the border, and that was a small hill right next to Inhamambo. The SOP on the mission had been to avoid any possible contact with the locals, but there was little choice. It would be at least another hour of cross-country running to reach the next tree-line, and that was if they were still able to manage double time, and based on his own exhaustion, Duke would have guessed not.

The sun was cresting the horizon, bright rays searing the back of Duke's skull as they approached the hill to rest. The Joes climbed only a few meters into the canopy before dropping their gear in utter exhaustion. No one appeared willing to go any further.

"All right, cut some branches off the inner sides of the trees and we'll stack them to make a hide."

Fitting action to words, Duke removed his knife from his backpack, but was stopped by the presence of an assault rifle in his face. The man behind it barked something in a language he didn't understand. Around the Joes, Duke could hear the clicking of firing pins on at least a dozen other rifles. He cursed, of course, this was the first cover on their path, someone must have known they were likely to stop here.

"Great work chief," spat Angel, "walked us right into another - OOF!"

Duke turned to see Angel's unconscious body hit the ground. Judging from the cut in her forehead, the soldier nearest her had used the butt of his rifle to silence her. The other Joes shifted uncomfortably, all looking as if they were poised to help, but all immobilized by the threat to their own safety presented by the rifles pointed at their own chests and heads. More men appeared from the dense undergrowth; they'd been well hidden in the pre-dawn twilight, but now Duke could tell they were surrounded by more than a hundred armed men. More than they could hope to take on without the element of surprise, let alone divested of weapons. What was worse was the sound of jeep engines emanating from outside the trees.

The rifle at his chest prodded him and he fell in with the other Joes to be marched out of the forest to where the vehicles were waiting. A single man, presumably an officer based on his gaudy dress uniform was waiting for them.

"I am Captain Kutisha, you are ma prisoners."

"We are on Mozambique terri-"

Duke's protest was cut short by a steel-toed kick between the legs. He toppled to the ground, gasping for breath.

"Tie dem up." Ordered Captain Kutisha. "Dey will walk behinds."

The soldiers snapped to obey, securing the wrists of the Joes behind their backs and puting loose shackles on their legs in preparation to march them at gunpoint back across the border to Zambia.

The officer walked up to Angel, who had been roused by some of the soldiers and placed a pistol under her chin, "where are de men who lef' you."

Angel remained stubbornly silent.

"Where are dey?" the man asked again.

Angel spat in his face, "I will tell you nothing."

The officer swore in his native language, and aimed the pistol between her eyes. In a split second Duke knew that if they were to ever get out of this situation and survive long enough to get back to civilization they couldn't afford to lose their only medic, so he did the only thing he could, pleaded like a madman.

"They went west along the river!"

The officer paused, just as Duke had hoped.

"Traitor!" yelled Ordinance. "You filthy sonova-" A rifle butt to her stomach silenced her.

"Yo will tell me whad yo know." The officer was now pointing his pistol at Duke's head. He took in a breath, here went nothing.

Three hours later, the procession leading the captive Joes along a highway back to Zambia by way of Zimbabwe slowed as they turned a bend, and Duke struggled in the dark to see why. Ahead on the road it appeared that there were a pair of jeeps blocking the path. The officer escorting them shouted something towards the vehicles and suddenly their lamps blazed to life. Pain seared the back of Duke's eyes even while he had them shut. It was a bright as day under those spotlights, and by cracking his eyelids he could see that the rest of their escort had been caught off guard. He didn't know who this was, but he tensed himself to take action.

"Who's in charge here?"

A man in an olive green uniform was striding towards the group. He had an unusual pair of binoculars attached to his helmet, they looked like they swung down from their current raised position, and a pistol holster crossed his chest.

"I am," the man calling himself Captain Kutisha replied hotly, "move your car out of da way."

"I will as soon as you hand over the prisoners." He extended some papers in his right hand, "I have orders to take them to Maputo for interrogation and relieve you of them and their possessions."

"We is not under yer athorhity," snapped Kutisha, swatting the papers in the man's hand away. "We take dem back do our countri."

In one fluid motion the man's right hand swung up from his side, drew the pistol holstered on his chest, and fired a single warning shot. Right through Kutisha's forehead. The Captain's head snapped back, blood spraying from both the entry and exit wound as he collapsed to the ground.

For a startled half-second the men guarding Duke and his team stood still then they raised their rifles to point at the olive-clad man.

"Who's in charge here?" he asked again, holstering his pistol.

A moment's silence followed before Ensign Tuako spoke up, "I am."

"I have orders to take the prisoners to Maputo for interrogation and relieve you of them and their possessions," came the reply, the papers extended once more, now with some blood spatter along their edge.

Tuako moved as if to take them, then withdrew his hand, "But, we are not Mozambique's. Why are you here."

"You are on Mozambique territory, and we have you surrounded."

"I da not belie' yo."

"Pick a number."

"Wud?"

"Pick a number."

"Six."

A sharp crack rang out from the right side of the road and one of the soldiers dropped holding a bullet wound through the chest.

"Pick a number."

"Twenty-nine," Tuako snarled, clearly attempting to determine the size of the man's force."

A repeat performance, this time from the left treeline and another soldier dropped. The remainder of the troops holding Duke and his squad started backing towards their own vehicles.

"Fine." Tuako had clearly determined that he wasn't a match for whatever was out there, "you take, we go."

Snapping in his native language he made three of his men throw their confiscated gear from the back of the truck before they departed down the road in a cloud of dust. Their unknown rescuer stood there immobile until the Zambian forces were out of site, before stepping forward and slitting the ropes on Duke's wrists with a knife from his hip.

"Breaker! Clutch!" he called out, "we're clear."

One man emerged from each side of the road, one with a black beard and rifle, the other with a brown beard, massive headset and machine gun.

"Nice trick Steeler," commented the one with the brown beard.

"All right then," said the one called Steeler, which Duke was pretty damned certain he'd heard used as a codename back at the Rock, "introduction time. I'm Steeler, tank officer. Dude with the headgear is Breaker, commo officer, and this is our other driver, Clutch. We're here to be your overland backup."

"How'd you know that Duke here managed to clusterfuck the whole mission?" grumbled Angel.

"We were sent out only a few hours after you when we saw military activity near the border increase. I take it that your three missing men were killed before you were captured?"

"No," snarled Ordinance, "Duke sent them off to continue the mission while we drew off the attackers. Stupid plan, but at least it had a chance of success. Then when we got caught, jackass here decided to sell them out to the enemy so they could get caught too. Just because we don't want to be lonely or anything."

"They were going to kill Lorrie. So long as they think we know where they are, they'll keep us alive. Otherwise they have no use for us. There's no chance they'll find Ambush out there now that they've gotten away, and we can still catch up with them. There was no point in risking all our necks when we can get out of this alive."

"Don't you dare make decisions for me," snapped Angel. "The mission comes first, I know that. When we were captured there was no way for you to know we were getting out of there, and we were all going to die anyway. You sold out your team-mates and the mission to save yourself a bullet. But watch yourself, if they don't kill you before this is over, I might!"

She stormed off to collect her equipment, followed by the rest of Duke's original squad.

"Breaker," ordered Steeler, "keep them from getting out of hand and try to gage them."

"Got it boss."

"Clutch, get the VAMPs ready to roll, we've got a lot of ground to cover if we're going to find Ambush. You know what a sneaky sonovabitch he can be."

"On it."

Steeler waited until everyone was out of earshot, "you actually told the enemy that Ambush was out there?"

"I had no choice. If I hadn't, you'd only be rescuing four of us at the most right now. Besides," Duke paused to glance around, then lowered his voice, "it will keep them from looking for the insertion team to the north."

"I know, but that was stupid. You know that at least one of them is going to report this when we get back to base. And that you'll be up for court marshal unless Hawk blows the whistle on the whole mission?"

"I know. But at least my team's still alive. Provided we can find Ambush."

"We'll find him, don't worry. Any of your team not ready to lynch you?"

"Boonie-Rat seems to understand, but the rest would probably do it in front of a theater."

Steeler nodded, "right then, you and he will ride with breaker and I in the two-seater, the others can pile in with Clutch in the four-seater. You fought to keep one of them alive, the least we can do is keep _you _among the living. I'll see what I can do to keep you out of trouble once we get back to The Rock."

Ten kilometers down the road, the group led by Ensign Tuako came to a halt as they reached another group of vehicles. These belonged to the real Captain Kutisha. The Captain Kutisha who had assaulted Duke's group had been in reality a disposable Liutenant Jabali. Kutisha had used him for such deceptions in the past as a convenient way of putting him in danger so that he could be removed before he got any ideas about trying to surpass his superior. Therefore Kutisha was very pleased by Tuako's report. Tuako was a fool, but a loyal one who would never be any threat to Kutisha. There was little doubt that the 'ambush' that had hit Tuako and the men had been the support team for the infiltrators, and that they would now be pursuing the three who had split off from the group earlier in the pursuit. Kutisha had no way of finding them, and his air support had proved more than useless in the task, so he must now rely on the prisoners he had to find them. The fools still hadn't discovered the tracking device and all he had to do was watch a single screen and pursue them with the bulk of his forces. There would be no more opportunities for them to pick off his men in small groups, though he had no idea how they had managed to survive the last two engagements, outnumbered by up to ten-to-one. It made no sense, but he had little doubt, that even with their newfound support that they would be impotent to stop his forces when they met again. All he had to do was follow them.

The VAMPs bounced through the canopy. Clutch drove point in the four-seater which had been fitted with an attachment that pushed through even the densest undergrowth, and Steeler followed in the two-seater. Duke's rear was getting quite sore from bouncing along on the rear platform that held the double machine gun, and he was betting the Boonie-Rat was equally uncomfortable. Still, he was willing to sacrifice personal comfort for the company. He was pretty sure that if he'd been in the other VAMP, he'd have been thrown in front of one of the tires by now.

"Turn north here," he said, interrupting Steeler, "Then we'll be roughly following our original path. Ambush, Dart and Java were supposed to make their way back to this and continue north, so we're likely to run into them somewhere along here."

Steeler relayed the instruction to Clutch, and then replied, "this is of course assuming that Ambush realizes we're friendlies."

"He should recognize VAMPs I would think. Especially if he sees the us crammed into them."

"Hopefully. And assuming that Clutch doesn't crash into the tree he's hiding behind."

"Doesn't seem like he's a bad driver to me," Boonie-Rat commented.

"Not bad, just a bit reckless. No where near as bad as Skidmark, but he used to race old muscle cars before he joined the military. There's still a lot of that lifestyle in his blood. I mean, you should have seen him in Beira, he took close to ten thousand off a gang there when he challenged them to a street race. You have no idea what hell we had to go through to prevent them from skinning us all alive."

"Oh?"

"Lets just say the local police won't be allowing us back any time in the near future."

"Fun."

"Indeed. And no sooner do we get out of there and head to Tete than Clutch is hitting on every single woman we can find. I swear the man chases more tail than a fox after a squirrel."

Boonie-Rat and Duke exchanged looks, "interesting comparison."

"Hey, its the best I could think of on short notice," Steeler protested. "Hey Breaker, you ever manage to figure out what was interfering with your radio?"

"I still have no idea what it was, but I've managed to stop it."

"What do you mean?" Duke asked.

"Well, ever since I picked you guys up, there's been some random interference pattern on a couple really low-amp frequencies. Nothing unusual about that in a jungle, but it was far too regular. I managed to hook up a system to back-splash it with some high-amp frequencies from my radio and I seem to have fried whatever it was that was transmitting. Can't have been very big, or very far away, it only took a few seconds." Breaker Shrugged, "probably nothing."

Ahead, Clutch was regailing the other Joes with tales of his exploits, "And this one girl - what was her name? - ah yes, Awena. She was really obliging. And then there was Milele and Malia; wow those girls were freaky. I tell you guys, if you ever want a good evening, just spend some time down here, its a very," he paused, "educational experience."

"You are a sick pig," Angel muttered in disgust from the back seat.

"I assure you, I'm perfectly healthy. And if you don't believe me, you can check me out tonight; my performance is second to none," Clutch bounced his eyebrows in the rear-view mirror.

"Pig."

Despite her animosity, Clutch continued to ramble through his exploits, both local and distant, for the next two hours as they bounced through the wilderness until they reached a grove of trees too thick for even the VAMPs to push through.

"Ladies' Man to Boring One, I'm not going anywhere, over," Clutch radioed back.

"Head west," an annoyed Steeler's voice replied. "Duke's team was supposed to pass through the trees here on foot, but there's no way we'll make it on vehicles. We'll have to catch up to them on the other side, hopefully its not too far around. Over and out."

On the far side of the trees, Ambush and Dart were hastily building a sniper's blind. There was only one path that led around the trees, and they had set themselves up at a sharp bend to intercept their pursuers. They'd heard them coming when they were only a few hundred meters off, and had barely had time to scramble through the dense grove of trees to make it to safety before the pursuing jeeps had arrived. Ambush had been too busy scrambling through the bush to figure out what make they were, but he did know that if he could take out the driver of the first one when they came around this side, that they had a good chance of knocking off the crews of both vehicles.

"Java," he whispered, fearful of being overheard, even though the vehicles were now well out of sight, "any luck raising communications?"

"Nothing yet, the tree cover is two dense. I can't bounce a signal properly off anything from here. We'll either have to get a larger antenna set up, or get out in the open."

Ambush shook his head, either of those options would leave them extremely exposed and vulnerable. Clearly someone was after them with a vengence and he had no intention of letting them find him or the others. Something was clearly up with this mission, but he still had a job to do.

"Java, what are we really doing here?"

"Trying to get to Lubumbashi of course."

"I'd believe that, but there's no one from intelligence on this mission. Your communications, and the rest of us are some variation of infantry. None of us are equipped to do a proper covert infiltration, and certainly none of us have the training. When we get to Lubumbashi, what are we supposed to do? Walk around the streets and hope no one notices you trying to splice into the phone lines? If they even have phone lines, that is. I'm not sure if this is a test for all the new Joes, or if we're decoys, or if this is just a really, REALLY poorly planned cock-up of a mission, but I don't like it. Yes, I'll get us there alive, and I'll help do whatever needs to be done, but something smells-"

"Incoming," Dart hissed, interrupting Ambush's tirade.

Ambush leaned down over a sniper rifle. He was a good shot with it, he had been in the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry before joining the Joes, and while he may not have been one of the best shots, he was pretty darn sure he could hit a jeep driver at under two hundred meters. Dart was spotting for him behind the blind, and Ambush's concentration was broken by Dart's exclamation of, "shit, don't shoot!"

"Why the hell no...oh." Ambush now saw through his scope what Dart had observed, the two vehicles that had been following them were presumably not intent on killing them.

Dart stepped out from behind the blind and waved them down, and Ambush began packing up. Looked like it would be an easy ride up to Trucial Abysmia. But what he heard from the officer named Steeler was quite the opposite.

"Scrubbed? What do you mean the mission's been scrubbed?"

"Just what I said," Steeler sighed, "somehow the local military has made you guys, and there's no way we're going to get you across the northern border into Abysmia, its just not going to happen. We're going to have to pull all of you back and figure out another way of going about this. I know you guys have put a lot of effort into getting this far, but we've got to pull you. I'm sorry."

Ambush stayed silent in anger for a minute, then sighed, "all right, just let us load up our gear and lets get going."

While the Joes paused to load up Ambush's gear, and grab a few quick swigs from their canteens, Duke wandered off to have some time to himself to think. Things had gone too far south to be believed. The sun was beginning to dip in the afternoon sky, and Duke reflected that when the Zambian government found out what had happened, they were going to be none to happy about it, and the Mozabique government wouldn't be to thrilled if they were implicated either. There would no doubt be some token international outcry before it was quietly swept under the rug. He shook his head and caught movement out of the corner of his eye: it was Digger. Duke nodded acknowledgement, but didn't say anything, wondering what he wanted.

"So, you only managed to kill the mission, not the people assigned to it."

"Therer was no way we could have gotten through with it," sighed Duke. "They were clearly tipped off to our presence."

"Gee, I _wonder_ who might have done that."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You were practically licking your chops to sell us out once they caught us, it wouldn't surprise me at all if your the one who fed this through to them before the operation."

"This your enlightened opinion, or did you have to ask a monkey?" Duke snapped, hurt.

"Listen bub," Digger grabbed Duke by the collar, "I _know_ your the one who sold us out, and its only because a couple officers got assigned to save our asses that you didn't kill all of us." Sometime during that sentence, Digger's pistol had appeared in his hand. "I'm just going to return the favor. Not like anyone's going to complain."

"Listen to yourself Digger, do you realize how ridiculous this sounds?"

"Your just trying to save your traitorous ass, and I'm not going to let you. You may have been able to fast-talk the officers into absolving you of your guilt somehow, but that's not going to wash with me. I know better."

Duke snapped his left hand up in desperation, managing to grab the gun barrel and point it upwards before Digger managed to get a shot off. Still, it seared through his shoulder snapping something, he wasn't entirely sure what, before he managed to push Digger backwards to the ground. Digger's knee slammed hard into his crotch, but the pain barely registered over that in his shoulder. His free hand clawed for Duke's eyes, and he was barely able to swat it away before squeezing his eyes shut. He could hear shouting as the other Joes crashed through the brush from the road towards the confrontation. Focused entirely on gaining control of the gun wedged between them, Duke wasn't paying attention to the direction the barrel was pointing as he twisted it out of Digger's grasp, and it must have caught Digger's finger causing it to go off again.

Both combatants gasped in horror.

"Traitor," hissed Digger with his final breath.

Breaker and Clutch pulled Duke off Digger's body, and stood him at attention. Duke realized he was still clutching the barrel of the gun, and dropped it.

Steeler stood there flanked by Java and Angel, as Dingo ran towards his friend's fallen body and the other Joes stood off to the left, staring in horror.

"Dingo," snapped Steeler, managing to hault the stricken man in his tracks. "Who's gun is that?"

"His obviously!" Dingo pointed towards Duke. "He killed him, and he's going to make sure none of us get out of here. He sold us out to the Zambians and tried to get us killed while we were in custody!"

"His gun is in its holster," Breaker said calmly, slackening his grip on Duke's right arm slightly, "look again."

Dingo bent down, then paused, "it...its Digger's..."

"I thought as much," Steeler sighed. "Clutch, Dingo, take Digger back. Angel patch up Duke's arm. The rest of you back to the VAMPs. Java, a word."

"I'm not patching up the traitor," Angel protested indignantly.

Steeler turned, an absolutely chilling look on his face, "Patch. Him. Up. That's an order. Otherwise your looking at a Court Marshal. Understood?"

Angel paused for a moment's defiance, then acquiesced, "yes. _Sir_." She invested as much scorn as she could muster into the second word.

Java followed Steeler a few steps away, then waited as the tank commander blew out a breath.

"All right Java, what the hell are we going to do about this?"

"Damned if I know. My team was _supposed _to be caught, and Duke knew it. He did an incredible job getting us through the thing alive, but I never drempt that the rest of them would turn on him like they did. I'm not sure whether to tell them so they stop trying to kill him, or if we're going to have to actually go through the Court Marshal they're demanding."

"One little screw-up," Steeler opined, "ONE! Everyone's stressed, and because of 'need to know,'" he spat the phrase, "none of them know that Duke was just doing his job, and now one of them has gotten himself killed in a completely asshole move. That alone is going to force us to put Duke thought the Marshal. I don't see how we can avoid it."

"Neither do I," agreed Java reluctantly, "but we have no choice. We might have been able to dust it under the table if it was just the suspicion of him selling the team out, but not with someone dead because of it." He shook his head. "I guess if we're smart, we might be able to get Hawk and Colton to reduce the charges and keep him on. Perhaps transfer him to Special Services, then he won't have to worry about being assigned to work with the regular Joes, and they won't be out for his blood."

"Special services should have been in charge of this mission from the get-go. They're not supposed to use the rest of the Joes as bait. And since we're not able to tell them about it, what _are _they supposed to think anyway. We really shouldn't be surprised at how far south this went given the situation. All they'll ever think is that this mission failed." Steeler paused, "speaking of, have you heard anything yet sir?"

"The real insertion went off without a hitch. Action Man and Chameleon crossed the border from Sudan five hours ago and have started radio silence. Not that the rest of the Joes will ever know."

Code Name: Ambush  
File Name: Aaron McMahon  
Birthplace: Biggar, Saskatchewan  
Rank: E3  
Primary Military Specialty: Concealment and Camouflage Specialist  
Secondary Military Specialty: Infantry

Code Name: Angel  
File Name: Lorrie Warf  
Birthplace: Albuquerque, New Mexico  
Rank: E6  
Primary Military Specialty: Nurse  
Secondary Military Specialty: Medic

Code Name: Boonie-Rat  
File Name: Gay Yamash  
Birthplace: Kroonstad, South Africa  
Rank: E2  
Primary Military Specialty: Hostile Environment Specialist  
Secondary Military Specialty: Infantry

Code Name: Dart  
File Name: Himmy Tall Elk  
Birthplace: White Earth, Minnesota  
Rank: E6  
Primary Military Specialty: Reconnaissance  
Secondary Military Specialty: Infantry

Code Name: Digger  
File Name: Jose Barnhill  
Birthplace: Melborne, Australia  
Rank: E6  
Primary Military Specialty: Infantry  
Secondary Military Specialty: Clerk

Code Name: Dingo  
File Name: Tony Funke  
Birthplace: Cowell, Australia  
Rank: E4  
Primary Military Specialty: Tracker  
Secondary Military Specialty: Infantry

Code Name: Duke  
File Name: Conrad Hauser  
Birthplace: Washington, New York  
Rank: E8  
Primary Military Specialty: Airborne Infantryman  
Secondary Military Specialty: Small Arms Armorer

Code Name: Java  
File Name: Bryan Cloyd (PhD)  
Birthplace: Cumberland, British Columbia  
Rank: O3  
Primary Military Specialty: Information Technology  
Secondary Military Specialty: Hacking

Code Name: Ordinance  
File Name: Ashleigh Walker  
Birthplace: Canmore, Alberta  
Rank: E6  
Primary Military Specialty: Artillery  
Secondary Military Specialty: Heavy Weapons

Code Name: Breaker  
File Name: Alvin Kibbey  
Birthplace: Gatlinburg, Tennessee  
Rank: O1  
Primary Military Specialty: Telecommunications  
Secondary Military Specialty: Infantry

Code Name: Clutch  
File Name: Lance Steinberg  
Birthplace: Asbury Park, New Jersey  
Rank: E4  
Primary Military Specialty: Transportation  
Secondary Military Specialty: Infantry

Code Name: Steeler

File Name: Ralph Pulaski  
Birthplace: Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania  
Rank: O1  
Primary Military Specialty: Armor  
Secondary Military Specialty: Artillery

.


	16. 02 25 2032 Psych Out

**02/25/2032 - Psych-Out**  
_  
Oslo - Vanderbert Night Club - Weekly Rave_

Flashing lights illuminate the room as Cyril Colombani and Edward Roth make their way through the packed crowds.

"You know Ski...er Cyril, you really have to loosen up man. You stick out like a sore thumb." Edward recovered just in time, remembering to use his partner's real name.

"Your just jealous my car goes faster than your chopper."

Edward shook his head, some things never changed.

"You have any idea who we're looking for Ed?"

"Blond guy, 5'10", apparently the DJ."

"I'm not seeing a stage. Just a lot of people who should be having talks with the police."

"Scantily clad women aren't illegal up here."

"No, but the drugs the guys are popping in their drinks are. I still say we run them in."

"Not what we're paid to do. I don't thing Joe would look too kindly on us wasting time on these bums. Just find this guy, what's his name?"

"Kennith Rich."

"Of course you'd remember."

They continued to push their way through the crowd, trying to orient themselves through the flashes of the lights. Cyril's upright bearing kept most of the revelers away from him, but Edward found himself being jostled all the time, which he found quite unpleasant, and propositioned by many of the female revelers, which he found much less unpleasant. Too bad he was only going to be here for another few hours, or he might have enjoyed some company. But orders were orders, fly Ed in, find Kennith, and get him out. How hard could it be? Eight days of searching proved it was actually quite difficult to find him at the parties.

"How exactly does someone go from being the top psychological warfare officer in the European Union, to a DJ anyway?"

"Probably trying to perfect new techniques, could you imagine trying to fight in this?" Ed yelled over the techno blaring through the club's speakers.

Cyril shrugged to concede the point.

"There," Cyril nodded towards a small booth near the back door of the club. "Your shorter, cut off the exit, I'll come up on his left. We'll take him out the back. There's no way we'd get him through this."

Edward nodded and slid through the crowd.

Ok, Cyril thought, fingering the auto-injector that Lifeline had handed him before they left the PIT, lets hope he cooperates, I'm not too keen on sticking him with this. But you gotta do what ya gotta do. He edged through the crowd, elbowing a few very drunken girls, who he was sure were underage, out of the way on his way to the booth. Reaching the booth, he slid between the table and the wall and up beside Kennith Rich.

"Yo man, yous got no business in the booth, man. Ya should head back out on the floor, loosen up, pick up some babes."

"I'm not here for that Mr. Rich-"

"Dr. Rich dude, got my PhD in Awesome Pownage from the University of Cool."

Geez, this guy has got to be high on something. And a fairly large dose. Cyril gestured towards Edward to come over. They'd probably have to carry him out. There was no way he could stick him, the drugs in his system could kill him when combined with whatever Dr. Steen had given him. How did a guy who got his degree at Berkley become a druggie?

"Well then Dr. Rich, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

Suddenly the distracted look left Kennith's eyes. "Excuse me? I'm trying to do my job here. If your a cop get the fuck out and let me work. I'm not high, I've done nothing illegal, and I will kick you and your buddy's ass if you touch me."

Oh, OK then_, _thought Cyril. NOT doped up. Just one hell of an actor. But then again, the guy's degree is in psycho warfare...

"Sir, we work for Generals Colton, Flagg and Abernathy. I know you worked with all three. They need your help."

"I told them, and I'm telling you now," Kennith turned away from his station, "leave me alone!"

"That's not what they said."

"What's your clearance code?"

"Excuse me?"

"If they really sent you you'd know the clearance code."

Oh screw this thought Cyril, people are staring, and they had no code word. There was only one way to play this. In one motion he pulled the auto-injector from his coat, and jabbed it into Kennith's stomach.

"I...you...wow, now those are some pretty colors."

Kennith Rich's body slumped back into the arms of Edward.

"Good catch."

"Yeah, now we just need to get him out of here."

"Hey man!" called one of the revelers, "What'ch doin' wid our D_hay?"

"Out the door, now!" Cyril ordered. Which was probably unnecessary in hindsite as Edward was already throwing Kennith over his shoulder and heading for the exit. Thankfully most of the revelers couldn't see them, but a few called after.

The two men and their human cargo barged out into the street, heading for an unmarked military jeep parked at the end of the alley. Edward threw Kennith's body in the back of the vehicle as Cyril gunned the engine, and they were off.

"You know speeding is just going to make us look more guilty right Skidmark?"

"You did realize that there was a cop following us for the last 3 hours right?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, OH! We weren't supposed to be here, and if I'm not mistaken, that black car following us is the cops. I hope you can get the Tomahawk in the air fast."

"We need eight minutes for a full warm up."

"We won't HAVE eight minutes Windmill! How about a cold start?"

"What happened to Mr. Perfection?"

"He's in a hurry."

"All right, all right. I can get us up with a cold start in about 30 seconds."

"Much better."

The VAMP tore out of the city, pushing 180MPH. Thankfully the police, or whoever they were, were falling behind. Edward had pulled out his Blackberry and was attempting to uplink to the Tomahawk, just 10 miles away.

"Come on, come on...GOT IT! Rear bay doors opening."

"Good man."

Cyril guided the VAMP on a reckless obstacle course through the countryside, and down a slope into a depression. Sitting there in the dark, in the lee of a pair of cliffs, hidden from view from all angles but directly above, sat a Tomahawk helicopter. The VAMP tore up the back ramp, and skidded to a stop just short of the forward bulkhead. Both men leaped out. Cyril heading for the ramp switch, Edward for the cockpit. One semi-successful extraction. Cyril just hoped that their flight out of the city wouldn't be covered by every local media outlet.

_General Colton's Office - The Rock - LOCATION CLASSIFIED_

"You guys are damn LUCKY that you aren't on every major news station from here to Hong Kong! What the hell were you thinking?"

After 6 months with the team Cyril knew better to answer the general when he was in this mood. Edward, after only 4 weeks, apparently did not.

"Well sir, we though that-"

"That's just it! You DIDN'T think! Your Joes! You're not supposed to draw attention to yourself, let alone be followed by the cops! Your supposed to be better than that! Get out of my office before I throw you out. Your leave privileges are suspended until further notice!"

Cyril followed Edward into the hall, shaking his head. They'd screwed up badly, but that could have gone much worse, at least they were in a better position than Duke. Cyril shuddered. Hell, Hauser was lucky he had only been busted down to private, most joes would have been court-marshaled for that...

_Medical Bay 1E - The Rock - LOCATION CLASSIFIED_

"He alright LL?" asked Laurence Flagg.

"He's fine. But he had a couple drinks in his system when Skidmark stuck him," replied Lifeline, "so it will take him a few minutes longer to regain full consciousness."

More gibberish emerged from Kennith Rich's mouth.

"There's some stuff I could put in his system, but I'd advise against it."

"All right then. We'll wait."

"We?"

"You got somewhere you need to go? Your the one who demanded a place on the command staff."

Lifeline shrugged and leaned back on his operating chair. Give him 10 minutes.

_Dormatories -The Rock - LOCATION CLASSIFIED  
_  
Cyril was looking forward to hitting the sack. What he was not looking forward to was talking to his room-mate. Clutch wasn't a bad guy, but he could be irritating at times. Perhaps he'd just ask Steeler if he could crash in his bed for a few hours. He'd understand. He'd had to work with Clutch on that thing in Mozambique.

Yeah, that's what he'd do. Safer and quieter.

_Mess Hall - The Rock - LOCATION CLASSIFIED_

Edward leaned on the counter. "Roadblock, I really don't care what you have, just serve me whaever's hot and filling."

"Ya sure man? You look like you've had a rough day."

"Yeah, General Colton's a bit pissed of with me. I screwed up."

"He'll get over it. He just has a short temper, but he always forgives. Eventually."

"That really doesn't make me feel better. You know that right?"

_Medical Bay 1E - The Rock - LOCATION CLASSIFIED_

"Oh man, those were some really intense drugs you used there...Lifeline was it?"

"Sorry, but it was the only way we were sure you'd come back here," replied Flagg.

"So, I take it my deep-cover op is over?"

"Yeah, we need you for something else."

"What precisely?"

"You remember Black Thursday?"

"Who doesn't."

"Well, we're the team whos taking down the bastards who caused it."

"That's all I need to know. My Uncle was at the Kremlin. I'm in."

"Good man. Lifeline will make sure your OK, and then we'll take you down to the ops center and get you caught up."

"Do I get a funny name?"

"Code name," Lifeline interjected rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean."

"Lifeline, be nice." Flagg admonished. "You have one in mind Ken?"

"Yeah, call me Psych-out."

Code Name: Psych-Out  
File Name: Kennith Rich  
Birthplace: San Francisco, California  
Rank: O-2  
Primary Military Specialty: Psy Ops  
Secondary Military Specialty: Engineering


	17. 04 12 2032 Fire and Ice NEW

**04/12/2032 - Fire and Ice**

_Resulute, Nunavut, Canada - Resolute Bay Airport_

Cover Girl usually took a deep breath of fresh air whenever she stepped off a plane, but there was no way on Earth she was going to today. Cinching the fur collar of her jacket tighter around her neck, she shivered with the cold and the wind. Even her dutiful old Marmot couldn't battle this weather. Behind her, she could hear Slipstream curse as the icy blast caught him across the face.

"Where the hell are we?" she asked over the wind.

"Welcome to Resolute!" came a cheerful voice from below. There stood a man, dressed in a red parka, black snow pants, and a black skullcap with some sort of brim jammed down on his head. "We're in the arctic circle, 74 degrees north, the central anchor of the Northwest Passage and the third most northerly city in the world!"

"Your way too excited about this," shot back Slipstream, "where's the nearest heater?"

"No one ever appreciates the welcome lesson," grumbled the man. "Come along. I don't know what your complaining about, its only forty-six below freezing with the windchill. That's around," he paused, the howl of the wind covering the silence, "negative fifty Fahrenheit."

"I didn't think that was even possible," muttered Slipstream. Cover Girl had to smile, at least someone else shared her distaste for the weather. Behind her, she could hear Cutter gathering up the last of their things as they made their way down the stairs.

"My name's Captain Nolan MacPhee, formerly of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. You guys get to call me Icestorm though."

"So...your a Joe?" Cover Girl asked.

"Yes, arctic ops. However, for the time being I'm in charge of security here at the Steens' military research center while they're hashing out a few concepts for the team."

"Stopped shooting at the US Coast Guard then?" growled Cutter as he ducked through the plane's hatch.

"Skip? Your with this outfit? Good to see you again. I told you that arm would heal."

"Still hurts like hell."

"You two know each other?" Cover Girl managed between chattering teeth.

"Yeah Cover Girl, we do." Cutter sounded none too enthused. "Remember back in the 20s when the Canadian Navy intercepted and impounded a Coast Guard boat trying to go through the Northwest Passage? I was the First Mate, and Nolan here was in charge of the CSIS boarding party. He also shot me in the arm when the Delta Force boys tried to break us out in Tuktoyaktuk."

"Its your own damned fault. If you boys had just waited in the hotel, we wouldn't have had that firefight, and it wouldn't have turned into such a bloody mess."

Cover Girl shook her head, the events and those that followed had been front page news on both sides of the border for most of a year when Canada and the States had gotten increasingly close to open war. It had started in December of 2022 a year after Alaska left the union and joined Canada, as Cutter described, when a US Coast Guard ship had attempted to traverse the Northwest Passage without proper authorization. It had been intercepted by a pair of the then new Alberta Class Warships and forced into port at Tuktoyaktuk where the crew had been held prisoner, pending negotiations between the US and Canadian Governments. Instead, President Hilary Clinton had ordered a strike team of Delta Force to extract the prisoners on a submarine. The entire rescue mission had been subsequently captured by the RCMP and CSIS.

The submarine had attempted to escape, but had been torpedoed by a Canadian submersible. Though the prisoners were subsequently released after extensive negotiations, tensions had escalated openly for two years, peaking in a near state of war when two US Predator bombers were shot down by Peregrine interceptors north of Calgary. Only the nuclear annihilation of New Delhi and North Korea's invasion of South Korea, China and Russia had prevented the open declaration of war. Even now, almost ten years later, relationships regarding the Northwest passage were tense between the two countries. Canada maintained that the passage was territorial waters given that it fell completely within national borders, but the US, and several other nations argued that it should be an international waterway. The increasing presence of the Canadian Navy, and treaty to allow passage of American Navy had quietened things to a slow boil, but it remained a point of contention. To have two of the men who had been central to the beginning events in the same place, and on the same side discomforted Cover Girl. It was only a matter of time before something exploded. She was sure of it.

Slipstream seemed to have taken an interest in Icestorm's past, and the Canuck was explaining, "so after five years with CSIS, I spent the last decade as the adjunct with the Mounties running the operations for the Passage out of here and Tuktoyaktuk."

"You must not notice the cold anymore."

"Can't say I ever did. I was born here. I only moved down to Ottawa for University and to start with CSIS."

"I see. You actually like it up here I take it?"

"Better than the heat and smog south of the border."

"We don't have smog anymore."

"Something else you have Canadians to thank for," grinned Icestorm, alluding to the generator developed by Bree Van Mark, now Steen, that had catapulted her to wealth and fame.

"You walked right into that one," Cover Girl teased the pilot. She hoped she could lighten the mood. Icestorm seemed cheerful enough, and Slipstream amicable, but Cutter definitely had a chip on his shoulder that could cause problems. Hopefully there would be someone else on the base to distract him.

The group approached a steal-sided building that appeared to be relatively new, and large enough to house a couple squadrons of fighters. Slipstream was no doubt drooling at the thought behind his scarf. Snow piled practically to the roof on either side of the door, which was the only section on the wall closest to them that had been cleared. The roof looked like it had been shoveled though, probably to prevent it from collapsing she figured. Icestorm walked up to the door and tapped a button on the left side, retracting the door into the wall. The group entered a small airlock where hot air was blowing from the ceiling, or at least hot when compared to outside.

The door behind them slid closed and, after a two second delay, the one in front of them slid open to reveal a large expansive hanger-like opening cluttered with people, mechanics and machines. Along the left wall were a pair of unusual looking tanks and a submarine, while along the right were a pair of matching aircraft, the closest in a state of dissassembly. Ranged around the middle of the floor were various workstations with other projects being worked on. Each wall was covered with tiny racks and drawers of materials and components that went into each project, and near each workstation there were small towers of drawers specialized for each project.

Cover Girl was at a loss to figure out what was going on, but she rather hoped that one of the massive tanks along the left wall was why she was here. The one with the racks of missile launchers on the back looked rather kick-ass. She unzipped her parka to allow the warm air to wash over her and disspell the last of the frigidness of outside.

Off to her right, she suddenly heard the chorus to an old song from almost twenty years ago "California girls, We're undeniable, Fine, fresh, fierce, We got it on lock, West coast represent, Now put your hands up, Oooooh Oh Oooooh" She turned and was staring at an average-looking African-American man with a massive pair of headphones dangling around his neck, "We're unforgettable, Daisy Dukes, Bikinis on top, Sun-kissed skin, So hot, we'll melt your Popsicle, Oooooh Oh Oooooh..."

"Kill the noise Dee-Jay," sighed Icestorm. "You'll have to excuse him," he explained as Dee-Jay reluctantly pressed a button on his wrist and the sound died, "Dee-Jay has music stored for every situation on that player of his, and he hits it at the most inappropriate times."

"All the time," Dee-Jay corrected with a measure of pride.

"I was trying to be generous."

Cover Girl couldn't help but smile, "but I'm not from California..."

"Well," Dee-Jay demurred bouncing his eyebrows, "your hot enough to be."

Cover Girl had to sigh. She had quit modeling to join the military late in the Chino-Korean war, and though she had had the opportunity to serve on the front lines, she'd also been the army's biggest promotional tool, and was the only active service woman to appear as a playboy centerfold. She often found herself regretting that shoot when she met various people.

"If your content flirting with Monswair-le-sleeze here," interrupted Cutter irritably, "I'm going to go have a look at that polar sub."

"Of course," Icestorm put his fingers to his lips and whistled, "Backstop, Sci-Fi, get over here! We're the four Joes on base until the Rock gets its in-house R-n-D center up and running. Besides, half these projects were underway for the Canadian military before they were also offered to the Joes."

"Those planes look rather impressive. But a swept-forward wing design? Isn't that kinda 90s?" asked Slipstream.

Icestorm shrugged, "avionics aren't my thing, but this lab turns out a lot of crazy stuff, like the MOBAT, if they say it works, I'm inclined to believe them."

"This is where the MOBAT was developed," Cover Girl asked impressed. The MOBAT, or Main-Operator-Battle-Tank was the first armor vehicle capable of being operated by a single driver who also served as gunner, aided by extremely advanced on-board electronics. The Canadian military was often derided for its small size, but when they'd unleashed those monsters in North Korea, it had become abundantly clear that it wasn't the number of soldiers, but the quality of the training and equipment that made the difference. The only thing on the battlefield that was more deadly was the Mauler MBT that came out of Texas, but that required a crew of three. She would have loved to get some time in one, just to try it.

"Yep, I believe that there are some being built a couple warehouses over for us. They should be ready next month. Ah, here we are," two other troopers had appeared. "Allow me to introduce Backstop," he indicated the tall well-built man on his left, Cover Girl had a vague feeling he looked familiar, "he used to play in the NHL before joining the military." Oh yes, that's where; he'd won a cup with some team or other that her brother had followed a few years back. Her sister had had a massive crush on him. "And this is Sci-fi," the other guy fit every nerd stereotype that Cover Girl had ever heard of, but presumably knew what he was doing, "one of our engineers working on portable laser weapons."

Now Cover Girl had to raise an eyebrow, "Lasers? Seriously?"

"Yes, They're actually almost functional for field testing if you'd like to see one," Sci-fi replied in a surprisingly deep baritone.

"If you don't mind?" Cover Girl deferred to Icestorm.

"Sure go. Backstop can show you the armor after your done. Slipstream, I'll take you to look over the Conquest X-30s, and then Cutter and I can have a look at the sub."

The group split up and Cover Girl fell in behind Sci-fi beside Backstop, "so, I take it your armor too then?"

"That would be correct," Backstop replied through missing teeth. "I missed the action in Asia while I was still a kid and did a couple years in the NHL, by the time I'd gone through basic, it was long over, but I stuck with it. Glad I did now; looks like we might see some more action."

"Possibly," Cover Girl agreed, "though to be honest, I can't really see having many battles against terrorists in which we'll need more than a couple pieces of armor."

Backstop gave her an odd look, but shrugged, "Sci fi, your show."

"Right then," he began, "this is the prototype to a laser rifle. As you can see, here in the backpack is the primary power cells which feed to a set of laser generators and amplifiers here. They emit along fiber-optic cables which travel through this cable in through where a magazine would be on a normal rifle. They then fire back on all sides of the barrel onto orienting mirrors which then pass them through a focusing diamond to be emitted as a single coherent beam."

"That's a remarkably straightforward explanation, I was expecting techno-babble," Cover Girl smiled.

"Your armor," replied Sci-fi dismissively, as if that explained everything. Cover Girl had to admit she was somewhat put off by that. Clearly Sci-fi had a certain stereotype he had lumped her into, and that bothered her. She'd joined the military precisely to defy stereotypes, but they seemed to follow her everywhere.

"We're still trying to find the right cut for the focusing diamond, and Polar Diamond is being cooperative giving us a bunch of different cuts, but,"he trailed off and shrugged.

"Wouldn't it just be easier to realign the mirrors and fiber-optics rather than play around with the crystal?"

Sci-fi rolled his eyes, "obviously not. The difference of a couple microns turns the beam from a laser-pointer into a weapon. Laser cutting of diamonds is much easier to adjust at that scale than moving mirrors. Even as it is, the index of refraction is slightly off for each diamond, so we have to account for that before we even begin cutting. We've gone through no small number of them." He gestured at a box behind him that Cover Girl hadn't noticed before, and her jaw slackened. It was filled with thousands of dollars worth of diamonds. Tens of thousands. More. They all looked nearly perfect, if somewhat unusually cut. Practically she knew they were for weapons testing, but the feminine part of her brain was drooling.

"Anyway, not much to see here until we get it working. We've got another bunch of settings coming in later today after you guys leave, so we can take a look at them." Sci-fi picked up a setting and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. It sat on a short post and was gripped by six metallic prongs holding it above the base. In ordinary circumstances it would have looked like an expensive earring, the sort she would have expected to see in a Tiffany's box.

Backstop nudged her gently in the arm, "well, the armor is working, and we were planning to let you have a look at it, Sci-fi probably needs time to do some more calculations on the specifics of his design. Right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sure. Go." He waved them away dismissively, but had clearly already put them out of his mind before Backstop had reminded them of their presence.

As they walked away, Backstop explained somewhat apologetically, "he gets like that. He may be brilliant, but he's got a massive ego and no social skills, so he comes across as a bit of an ass, but there's no one better to have with you in a firefight. The guy never misses."

"I kinda feel like punching him in the nose. He's an ass."

"Striking an officer would be a bad idea."

"Officer? Geez. What did he do, abuse his superior until he got a promotion?"

"Actually, that's pretty close to what I've heard about the guy."

Cover Girl sighed, "and I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice people."

"You probably thought we all lived in igloos too," Backstop grinned.

"You don't?" Cover Girl faked shock.

-

"I know we haven't always gotten along," Icestorm continued, "but we're on the same team now, so can we just put that incident behind us?"

"Let me plug you a couple times, and we'll talk about it," replied Cutter icily.

"For God's sake man, it was _one graze_," Icestorm was becoming exasperated, "and it was over a decade ago now. I didn't mean to, I was aiming for you gun."

"Then your a poor shot and I don't trust you anywhere near me."

Icestorm shook his head, "fine, hold a grudge if you must, but I remind you, your boys killed two of my men, so I have plenty of reason to be mad with you, but I realize those were extraordinary circumstances. But lets just get this inspection over, I'll show you the sub you've been sent to look at and then we can both get out of each other's way, and hopefully we won't have to work together too much."

"I'll be speaking to Colton myself to be sure of it."

"Do as you wish, just look at the damned sub, alright?"

-

Slipstream leaned headfirst into the cockpit, a flashlight held in his teeth, "iz a bid crouded 'n here."

"There's a reason for that," the lead engineer explained. "The forward landing gear keeps seizing up on this one, so rather than have to rip out a bunch of stuff every time, we just shifted everything around a bit to make more room so we can just take it out every time. If you try sitting in the Beta model, you'll get a feeling for what the cockpit will be like on the production run. This one is just proof-of-concept for the electronics mostly."

"Di see."

"You wan't a hand in there?"

"Node. I'm gud."

"Suit yourself. If you want you can take her up for a run."

The light slipped out from between Slipstream's teath, "really?"

"Yeah, just give me 20 minutes to get clearance on the target range so you can give the armaments a shot. I just hope that tank-jockey chick you brought with you doesn't blow them all up first. Looks like she's taking the Wolverine out for a test, and that Backstop fellow's following with the Persuader."

"Then you better toss me a helmet and get me in the air," grinned Slipstream, "I love a competition."

-

Late that evening, Cover Girl followed Cutter and Slipstream up the stairs back onto their jet. All three were impressed with the quality of product being produced, although Cutter wouldn't admit it publicly. It seemed that the Joes were soon going to have the equipment to back up the troops, which was something they were definitely lacking at the moment.

Off in the distance a massive horn sounded off the coast in the bay. Like her fellow Joes, she turned towards the noise. A large battle cruiser was sailing into harbour.

"Now that's an impressive site," commented Slipstream.

Icestorm turned towards the bay, "Oh, that's the HMCS Battleford, she's going through her shakedown cruise up here," he explained. "I understand she's being assigned to the Joes after a few sea-trials and a month's service out of here."

"Alberta Class by the looks of her?" asked Cutter, sounding begrudgingly impressed for the first time all trip.

"Yep, fresh out of the harbour at Churchill."

Cover Girl admitted to herself that she was impressed also. The Alberta Class was to the Navy what the MOBAT was to the military. It was among the largest Destroyer/Cruiser hybrids afloat, but could be run by a crew of 80 in rotating shifts of 20 and a support staff of another 20. Three helipads at the back could handle fully-laiden Chinook II carriers, beneath which were 4 assault boats. Cruise missile tubes surrounded the superstructure, and several long-guns dotted the decks. Fully crewed, it could carry 200 crew, 100 support staff, and a boarding complement of 250 marines. Originally designed for arctic service to protect the northwest passage, the ice-breaking prow served equally well as a battering ram, as the North Korean Navy had learned the hard way. Cutter was likely drooling, she reflected.

If he was he didn't show it, "good to know. I look forward to getting it crewed down in the states."

He turned and boarded the craft. Icestorm shook his head, then addressed Cover Girl and Slipstream, "I trust you two at least enjoyed your visit."

"Very much," Cover Girl answered for the both of them, and Slipstream nodded. "Thank you."

"Certainly. I look forward to seeing you again when I get to visit the Rock."

"We'll keep some coffee warm for you."

Icestorm raised a hand in farewell as Slipstream made his way to the pilots cabin, and Cover Girl dogged the hatch, she could just hear him call after them, "YO JOE!" 


	18. 08 17 2032 Widescope

**08/17/2032 - Widescope**

_Kiev_ -_ Roadway _

Skidmark bounced the RHINO over the median and down the other side on Elektrykiv Street, ignoring the honks of angry motorists. He was somewhat amused by the noise, what exactly did they think they were going to do to stop him? He shook his head and slid the massive vehicle into the parking lot of 5-Element, an exercise favility. Cars parked on either side of the thruway scraped along the armored sides of the RHINO as it barrelled through the lot, scattering the early morning visitors on its way to Geroiv Stalingrada Avenue along the Dnieper River.

"You really should watch where your going," Doc said, his voice raised by tension as the vehicle barreled over a traffic calming device and out onto the thoroughfare.

"Relax," replied Skidmark, "the newbies in the back could use a bit of a shakeup."

"Yeah, well _I _could live without it."

"Then use some of those antacids strapped to your helmet," Skidmark joked.

Doc shot him a glare, and a man in a red sports car shook his fist at the side window.

In the back, four more Joes waited to do their jobs: Clean Sweep stood by for any hazardous conditions the team might face, Updraft waited should air support be needed from the on-board chopper, Salvo manned the rear guns and missile launchers should they encounter hostile conditions, and the team's newest addition, Widescope, dozed on the left bench until his door-kicking services were required.

Clean Sweep looked up from his tablet and leaned over to Updraft, "does he seem unusually lazy to you?"

A shrug, "he's certainly not stressed about this operation, but he was an FBI SWAT trooper for five years, I assume that busting down a terrorist medical center would be fairly low-key stuff by comparison to some of the stuff he's been through."

A black dog laying on the floor beside his master looked over at the two Joes and growled softly.

"Seems like the inverse of Mutt and Junkyard, the dog's actually meaner than the master," commented Updraft.

"Fair point," agreed Clean Sweep fiddling with his moustache before he shrugged, "well I suppose it doesn't matter, so long as he does his job."

Salvo dropped down from the rear gun turret with a thud and took a seat on the rear bench. Updraft inclined his head in a greeting then leaned back in his seat. A sudden bump jostled him in his seat and caused Clean Sweep to drop his tablet. Widescope simply lay on his bench, seemingly unperturbed. Up front Skidmark was talking with Doc, but Updraft couldn't quite make out what.

"Not much traffic this morning," commented Skidmark.

Doc raised an eyebrow, "you call this 'not much'? Where do you normally drive? Tokyo rush hour?"

"Just sayin', I would have thought there would be more. Hang on."

Two words were apparently all the warning he felt necessary before he swung the massive vehicle in a hard left turn and onto a bridge, knocking over a 'do not enter' sign on the way. Podols'kyi Bridge according to the GPS unit embedded in the dash. Skidmark swung the wheel hard to shift the massive vehicle into the next lane and avoid the traffic barrelling head on towards them. Traffic moving east to the industrial sector was light this morning, the majority of cars moving in the opposite direction to reach the downtown core. Doc sighed slightly in relief as the freight truck blew by just inches to their left. A few blasts on the horn from Skidmark sent the cars in front of them fleeing for the narrow shoulder. As it was, the rear wheel scraped along the side of a pickup that didn't get out of the way quickly enough resulting in a flurry of honking trailing them as they passed over the first stretch of water. The bridge curved slightly north passing over an island that was left with more or less natural forest cover with only a few small roads and buildings dotting various areas to the south and north of the main road. No turns presented themselves though, and the RHINO shot out over another, narrower stretch of water before reaching the eastern shore where natural tree cover also remained, then swung hard right to the south as the bridge ramped down to a lane-way that bordered the west side of a residential division.

The houses were sandwiched between the road and a small creak separating them from a massive spread of houses nestled between their current position and the industrial sector that showed in the distance. Doc glanced at the odometer and immediately regretted it, that this thing was even _capable _of pushing 150 disturbed him greatly.

"Do we really need to go this fast?" he asked.

"Well, given that the local cops are planning to surround the place in about," Skidmark glanced at his watch, "six minutes, I would say so. If the terrorists holed up in that place are indeed Cobra, they'll cut through the police in a few seconds and be out of the city before you or I could blink. Hey, where's your sidearm?"

"I don't use guns."

Skidmark raised an eyebrow, "then why on earth did you sign up with the military?"

"Because you guys deserve the best medical treatment possible, just because I'm a pacifist, doesn't mean that I don't believe in your jobs."

"Forgive me for pointing this out, but Lifeline doesn't seem to have a problem with shooting people."

"Yeah, well, the crazy Canuck isn't me."

"I see. Somewhat ironic though."

"How so?"

"The American doc doesn't want to touch a gun, second amendment or not, but the Canadian..."

Doc had to smile at that, "he's probably jealous of us Yankees, eh?"

"Somehow, I'm guessing not. Hold on to your butt."

"Wha-"

Doc grabbed the arms to his seat as Skidmark threw the RHINO into another impossible turn throwing them off the lane-way and down a crowded residential street at full speed.

"Watch out for the dog!...Oh dear."

"Whoops."

"You killed a DOG!"

"Yeah, well, pretend you didn't see that!"

"I can't just say it didn't happen!"

"I didn't say you had to say it, just pretend in your own mind!"

Doc bit back an angry retort and sulked in his chair.

Even that loud exchange hadn't stirred Widescope in the back compartment.

"That's just unnatural," Updraft said staring at the man sleeping on the bench.

"Perhaps someone should check his pulse," offered Salvo, "make sure he's still with us when we go to shoot stuff."

Both men stared expectantly at Clean Sweep who pretended not to notice until Updraft poked him.

"Fine, I'll check once the maniac up front stops hitting every bump in the road."

-

_Kiev_ -_ Cobra Medical Center_

Scalpel grunted in acknowledgement of the Televiper's report, "so, the military is on to us. How long until they arrive?"

"There's a big armored vehicle tearing through the streets from the airport and they're almost here now, I'd give them ten minutes at the absolute outside. The local constabulary will be here a couple seconds before if they don't hit traffic."

"I'll kill the wounded, and leave Death's Head Squadron behind to make a holding action. You clear the records and then join me, we're leaving."

"Yes sir!" The Televiper saluted and the hurried on his way back to the computer center.

"Sergent Fang!" Scalpel called out, striding back into the operating rooms.

"Yes sir," one of the faceless vipers standing guard.

"Prepare your men for incoming military. Make a holding action as long as you can and then get out of here. Get the sub and radio me, we'll meet downriver."

"Yes sir!" Fang saluted then turned, "Stratton! Get the rest of the men suited and to the front door, we've got company coming! Davils, take four men and cover the east side."

Two more vipers hurried about their jobs. Scalpel drew his pistol and walked to the first bed. He flicked the safety and pulled the trigger. No loose ends.

-

_Kiev - Roadway_

The RHINO tore down Stepana Sagaidaka Street south towards the rail yards and surround industrial centers where the suspected Terrorist hospital was located. Homes and frightened civilians flashed by on both sides of the vehicle as it raced down the road. Cars were pulling up onto the sidewalk to avoid being crushed by the rampaging armor. The houses petered out and the road ended, forcing Skidmark to throw the RHINO into a sharp left onto Kombinatna Street, and Doc was almost certain that two wheels lifted off the ground. The speedometer was now approaching 170 and the tachometer was redlining badly.

"Geez man, slow down, the terrorists will still be there when we get there."

Skidmark grinned, "Ah come on man, its not that fast."

"I'd bet you Clutch's Ferrari doesn't go this fast."

Skidmark just laughed, and swung right onto Tsegel'na Street, barrelling through another residential neighbourhood, though the houses here were larger and more widely spaced.

Doc shook his head and looked forward, "Traffic circle. Traffic Circle! TRAFFICCIRCLE!"

Skidmark ignored him and bounced the RHINO over the edge and tore over a pair of fir trees before crashing down on the other side, pedestrians spilling from nearby apartment high-rises scattered screaming in panic, and a grey sedan bounced off the front bumper.

"Watch it Skid!"

"Relax Doc, its basically straight down,...er..."Cannonball glanced at the GPS screen, "Lunechars'kogo Street and we're basiclaly there.

"I take it you haven't noticed that this is the most crowded street we've run into yet."

"Oh I noticed," Skidmark replied and hit another loud blast on the horn, "I just don't mind."

"Even if the Cobra's didn't have someone watching the airport when the Herc landed, there's no way that they haven't heard us comming by now."

"Your just paranoid."

Doc shook his head, and looked out his window at the massive lines of apartment blocks that now marched on either side of the street, seemingly unbroken for three blocks. It seemed that news of the RHINO had finally spread as the intersection ahead was clear and the RHINO sped through without incident, only once they were through did Doc notice the police roadblocks around the distance. Well, any chance at subtlety was now completely blown if the local police had cut off the area.

"You know," Skidmark commented, "that's actually a rather nice block," inclining his head to a curved block on the east side of the street.

Doc had been looking at a pair of towers out the passenger's window but muttered something noncommittal anyway. Skidmark shook his head, and slid the RHINO between two cars that had been abandoned in the middle of the road, presumably after the Police forced the occupants out. They passed under a pair of overpasses, on which the traffic still seemed to be moving, and passed another traffic circle. This time Skidmark drove beside, rather than over it. A park passed on the left, and a zig-zagging apartment building stood on the right.

"This is our turn," Skidmark announced, finally stepping on the breaks hard to swing the RHINO ninety degrees to the right and smashed through a fence and into a parking lot, where he totaled no fewer than four parked cars, "probably Cobra anyway," he excused himself, then smashed the RHINO through a six-foot stone wall and into a small space between buildings. On the driver's side a large, unremarkable industrial building stood, off the passenger side there was a a small, shed with a rounded roof.

"We're here."

"Darn, I'm pretty sure my lunch ditched out a few miles back." Doc replied snarkily, slipping out of his harness. "I'll go get the others."

"Geez," Skidmark muttered to himself as Doc stalked to the back, "lighten up dude."

"All right! Everybody ready?" Doc asked entering the rear troop bay.

Clean Sweep was strapping on various pieces of gear but Widescope was still dozing on the bench, but at the sound of Doc's voice, he sat up, flipped on a hat and picked up his pack. Lamont barked.

"Ready to go boss."

"Good. Updraft, get the chopper prepped, we may have scatter if there's more than we planned for."

"On it." The pilot clambered through a hatch to the on-board chopper bay.

"Salvo, you wait here, we'll call you if we need you. Widescope, lets move."

Widescope nodded, absently tightened a strap on his vest and flipped the switch to open the door. He jumped down without aid of the ladder, Lamont at his side and waited for Doc to clamber down and join him. He unslung his riot shield and advanced. Doc tucked himself behind Widescope's left side, he had to admit he would have been more comfortable with Shockwave, at least he knew how he worked, hopefully the new guy would do his job right. One thing was for sure, he didn't seem in the least worried.

-

_Kiev_ -_ Cobra Medical Center_

Cobra Viper Felix Stratton was the first to spot the two advancing figures, "two hostiles on the west side. Hold fire until they reach the 20 yard line. And someone shoot that dog."

Felix had had a bad experience with a dog when he was younger, and he hated the animals with a passion. There was something in particular about this black dog and its grey harness that disturbed him. The man in grey with the Riot shield looked like he knew what he was doing, but the black dude in the tan uniform distinctly had the look of a medic, reinforced by the red cross on his right arm, meaning that they really had only one opponent to deal with. Not that that really made a difference, these military wannabes were going to be very dead very soon.

"Wait...wait...what the-"

-

_Kiev_ -_ Outside Cobra Medical Center_

Widescope stopped thirty feet away from the wall of the building and raised his right hand. Before Doc could ask what he was doing the roof-mounted machine gun on the RHINO opened fire into the window's of the second story, blazing away. Screams could be heard from the building, and Widescope pushed Doc to the ground, covering both of them with his riot shield from the hail of bullets that now fired out of the first floor windows. Behind them, Doc could hear the sirens of police finally arriving on scene. It was a good thing they'd gotten there first after all because the cops would have been cut to shreds in only a few seconds. He made a quick mental note to apologize to Skidmark later. Widescope didn't seem perturbed in the least, even with his shield braced in one hand he was managing to fit a scope to his assault rifle, which he poked through the viewing slit and began returning a concentrated stream of fire into the building, concentrating in turn on windows either side of the doorway, slowly working his way towards alternate ends of the floor. The RHINO's cannons wern't capable of depressing far enough to hit the first floor, instead plugging away at the upper levels. Most fire from above the ground floor had now dissipated as whatever defenders had been there were wiped out.

A rocket fired from an upstairs window, impacting on the roof of the RHINO in front of the cannon emplacement. Salvo kept up a stream of fire for a moment then stopped, the cannon appeared to have fused to its bearings, preventing it from rotating to different targets. Widescope put a pair of bullets through the same window and then resumed his advance towards the door.

"Come along Doc, we don't want to be late to the party," he said cheerfully, almost casually.

Doc followed, Lamont trotting beside him. Some fire still spat from windows but a quick run brought them up to the main door, and out of the range of the defenders. Widescope shouldered his rifle and removed a small battering ram from his backpack, which he promptly smashed one-handed against the door beside the handle, shattering the lock and flinging it open.

"Knock, Knock! Anybody home?" he called out into the hallway. In answer, three doors burst open and Cobra Vipers began firing down the hallway. Two groups on the left and one on the right. Doc dived back out the door, but Widescope held his position, crouching down so he was completely hidden behind his shield and returning fire on the groups. Lamont lay behind the door, growling in his throat. Behind him, Doc could Salvo exiting the RHINO and firing at some of the windows with a rifle of his own, but a movement off on the far side of the building caught Doc's eye. Two men in police uniforms were moving away from the building, taking a bit of fire from the far side. Doc wasn't entirely sure how they'd gotten that close to the building since the first cars had arrived, but he ignored them for the time being. More police were pulling up each instant and were likely surrounding the other side of the building. At least that helped shift the balance of firepower back in their favor. It seemed that they'd been quite right about this being a Cobra operation given the nature and number of operatives that were inside. Doc shook his head, almost wishing that he had a gun of his own right now. At least he could comfort himself that he'd been given a bullet-proof vest under his uniform.

-

_Kiev_ -_ Outside Cobra Medical Center_

Scalpel ran with the televiper on his heals. They'd stolen a laundry-truck worth of police uniforms a few months back for disguise purposes when picking up their patients from the airport and it appeared that they were going to come in handy again. At least one of the military types had noticed them exit the building but had clearly dismissed them on the basis of their opportunity. Thankfully, the direction they were running in was thus far devoid of police cars, meaning that they should have an easy out. But no sooner had this thought crossed Scalpel's mind then one rounded the L-shaped building they had been using for cover from the armored vehicle. Scalpel flagged down the driver, who obligingly pulled over. The Televiper, sensing his intention moved over to the passenger's side, and as soon as the doors to the car opened, both men inside were dead. Neither man was wearing their seat belt and so both were easily tossed into the backseat while the two Cobra operatives climbed in.

"Airport or subs?" asked the Televiper.

"Airport, more range on the Rattler than on those crappy subs," replied Scalpel, pressing his foot down on the accelerator and throwing the wheel hard over as the two sped away.

-

_Kiev_ -_ Cobra Medical Center_

Widescope paused to swap magazines out of his rifle for the third time, it seemed to him like there were at least two companies of Vipers in the building. He knew from counting them that not even a single squadron had shown itself yet, but it felt that way none-the-less, and he couldn`t shake the feeling. He shrugged and returned fire once more. One bullet got lucky and slid through the viewing slit to the left of his head, and Widescope adjusted the angle slightly to protect himself, should the shooter get lucky like that again. Off to his left he could see a small air vent and he began edging towards it, whistling softly for Lamont to follow him. The dog immediately obeyed and trotted behind his master towards the wall. The choice was wise, as the first group of Vipers leaning out their door on the left blocked the second from firing, immediately cutting the rate of fire directed at him in a third. Using a foot and knee to brace his shield, Widescope freed his left hand, and continued firing with his right. With his free hand he dug around in one of his pockets and retrieved a small pneumatic cutting device which he applied to the grate on the wall, making a hole large enough for Lamont to slip through. The dog understood immediately and hurried through, then waited.

Widescope patted him, then unclasped a smoke grenade from his belt and rolled it down the hallway. The Vipers in the hall ducked back into their rooms, expecting an explosion and Widescope used the opportunity to prop his shield over the hole into the vent, and then slipped out the door. Doc gave him an odd look, as he pushed him out of the way to look through the doorway. Propping his rifle on a splinter in the doorjamb, Widescope dug with his left in his backpack until he found what he was looking for. It looked like an old style first-generation iPod, and had in fact been modified from one. The screen showed an infrared image of an air vent, with the right ear of Lamont bordering the left side of the image. The screen's image was from a small camera mounted on Lamont's harness, beneath which was a miniaturized silenced pistol with 50 rounds of ammunition. The scroll wheel controlled small pistons on the underside of the harness that exerted a gentle pressure on Lamont's upper back and directed him to move.

Widescope began directing the dog through the tangle of vents. Most of them so far appeared to be at ground level, which was good as there was no way Lamont could climb a vertical shaft if it came to that. The smoke in the hallway was disappearing and the Vipers had reemerged from their rooms and were directing fire at the shield that Widescope had left in place, still believing he was behind it. The smoke was still thick enough to hide the edge of his head, and the barrel of his rifle that poked around the edge, and the Vipers on the right didn't seem to be paying attention to shielding their necks. Good. With careful aim, Widescope sighted down his rifle and let off four shots. The second glanced off the faceplate of the intended target, but the other three struck home and riped apart the throats of Vipers.

It took half a second, but one of the Vipers ordered his men to concentrate fire on the doorway and Widescope was forced to duck backwards to protect himself. Salvo appeared to have finished with the Vipers guarding the window's and was now hurrying to the other side of the door. Widescope nodded and turned his attention back to the feed from Lamont. He'd reached a grate into the first room on the left where the vipers were stationed. One lay on the floor, apparently where Widescope had dropped him earlier in the fight, a lucky shot that he hadn't even realized he'd gotten until now, and the other three all leaned out the door. A few taps on the scroll-wheel and Lamont was facing the Viper's legs. Hitting what used to be the play button he activated the targeting cross-hairs, and adjusted the height using the fast-forward button so that the pistol was aimed just below the men's belts.

"Bye-bye snakes," he chuckled to himself, and depressed the center button with his thumb while rotating the scroll wheel slightly with his index finger. A continuous spray of bullets erupted from the muzzle of the pistol. Because it was silenced, the Viper's didn't realize until the shots were already tearing into them. The silencer was actually for Lamont's benefit because the original unsilenced weapon had caused him to always turn his head when practicing with blanks. A response that would kill the poor dog if it happened with live rounds. Releasing the triggering button, Widescope directed Lamont back through the air vent to where his shield covered the dog, but not before he got a look through the view to make sure that the three vipers from the room were down and writhing. They may not be dead, but based on the images that Lamont's cam had picked up they were out of the fight for sure.

Widescope gestured at Salvo to flatten himself to the ground, while Widescope stood up, and held up five fingers. Salvo nodded understanding, and Widescope blew out a breath to steady his aim. Four vipers were on the left and one on the right. The one on the right was his, the four on the left were Salvo's, and there was no doubt that the big Joe would take them out without difficulty. A swift kick to the door knocked it open and gave Widescope a clear field of fire towards the Viper on the right. One bullet tore through the fabric of his pantleg and would have shattered his tibia had it been a half inch lower. But it wasn't. By contrast, his own shot didn't miss its target this time, punching through the vulnerable neck piece, while Salvo's salvo blew through the helmets of two vipers, and the vest of a third before the last broke and ran through another door at the end of the hallway.

Bending to pick up his riot shield and collect Lamont Widescope advanced down the hallway, Salvo following behind. He glanced in the first door, the vipers were all down and at least faking death. None of them had an officer's vest or helmet, so Widescope put a shot through the necks of each. Just in case. No point leaving danger behind them. There was little doubt in his mind that there were more armed opponents in the rest of the building. Doc edged in the outside door as Widescope marched up to the one at the end of the hallway. Locked. Of course. Nothing a small application of C4 wouldn't solve however.

It took him a second to reach around to the right pocket on his bag to retrieve it, and less time to affix it to the locking mechanism and set a twenty second timer. He and Salvo hurried back to where Doc was waiting and the charge went off. The door was torn off its hinges by the blast; perhaps a bit less C4 in old buildings like this in the future Widescope made a mental note, and charged through the door, rifle at the ready and shield up. The room was filled with cots with patients in various states of undress. One thing was common to all of them, heavy restraints on the arms and legs. Actually two, Widescope realized with slight revulsion, each also possessed a single, still oozing bullet wound through the center of the forehead.

"Oh Doc...I think your going to want a look at this," Widescope called over his shoulder already making his way through the room towards a door on the far side that had been left ajar. No doubt the escape route. His radio crackled, it was Updraft.

"Widescope, do you copy?"

He wrestled the device off his belt where it had lodged during the firefight, "I copy. What's happening." He picked up his pace, worried.

"Vipers are spilling from the back door, I've taken off and am following one group. Get Salvo to regroup with the RHINO and he and Skidmark will go after the others."

"But-"

"No buts, we can't assume they didn't leave a couple rearguards, and we can't have Doc or any more of the cops getting shot if you go with him."

"Roger. Salvo-"

"Already going." The big man paused at the door, "by the way, nice work rookie. I think your a keeper."

Code Name: Widescope  
File Name: Larry Kransler  
Birthplace: Newton, Massachusetts  
Rank: E5  
Primary Military Specialty: Urban Assault  
Secondary Military Specialty: Negotiations  
-


	19. 12 18 2032 Interview with a Terrorist

**12/18/2032 - Interview with a Terrorist**__

15:23 MI6 Headquarters - London

The room on the ninth floor of MI6 Headquarters was unusually bare, even for an interrogation room. The table and two chairs were plastic and bolted to the floor. No one was taking any chances with the current prisoner. Kennith "Psych Out" Rich turned his face away from the CCTV view of the room, and regarded the officer in charge, "your sure this is the guy?"

"Quite certain sir. We didn't believe it ourselves at first, but we're pretty sure now."

Psych Out nodded silently, "are you sure you have enough security to hold him?"

"I should think so sir. We stripped him of every conveicable weapon he was carrying, and we even discarded his clothes lest he have any tricks hidden there. All he's got with him is that inmates jacket."

Psych Out nodded again, and hoped that those precautions would suffice.

In the interrogation room a man sat alone. He was just a hair taller than five feet and eleven inches, well muscled, and had a mostly forgettable face framed by brown hair that was beginning to go grey. It was far from the first time he had sat in a room such as this, in fact, he rather enjoyed these charades. Scratching lightly at the back of his neck he waited for the inevitable prodding that was coming. MI6 had tried before, and he would have though they knew better than to try again. Of course, there was always the possibility that the man interviewing him was from the team investigating the Black Thursday attacks. Oh yes, he knew the team existed, though that was all he had yet been able to learn, and no, he hadn't bothered to share this knowledge with the Cobra organization. Let their own intelligence division find out about it. For now, it was something that kept him ahead of the game.

Few others would have noticed it, but he could hear the surveillance camera in the northeast corner of the room whirring as it adjusted to look at something particular in the windowless room. Not that there was much to look at, meaning they were probably scrutinizing him in preparation for sending in the flunky. Good. He had until precisely 16:00 to wait, and if they didn't talk to him before then, well, that was their loss. He was rather hoping to talk to someone from that team though. Not because he really felt compelled to unburden himself, or repented anything, but truth be told he was somewhat bored. If the interrogation _was_ being conducted by the Black Thursday Investigators, or BTIs as Firefly had chosen to nickname them, he had decided to share some information to rattle them. It should be rather fun to mess with their heads. But if it was just another MI6 lackey he'd have to settle for being bored. Not the first time, nor the last.

He shifted slightly in his seat, not because of any actual discomfort, but because ever interrogation manual advised waiting until the interrogee was uncomfortable, thus making them more willing to release information, or just more careless due to the distraction. That really never made much sense to him, any criminal worth his pay would have been in far more uncomfortable situations than sitting on a wooden chair. As a matter of fact, this one was quite comfortable, felt like it was from Ikea actually. Other than the slight shifting, the man held his place, that should be enough to convince those watching that he truely was uncomfortable but trying to hide it.

As if on cue (one had to love the utter predictability of these intelligence types, and there was a misnomer if he'd ever heard one) a blond man with overly long wild hair walked through the door. He was wearing a loud green shirt and light grey dress pants. The prisoner almost burst out laughing at the shirt, that capped it, definitely one of the BTIs then, no stogy MI6 interrogator would be caught dead wearing something that actually showed personality. Well, things had just gotten ore interesting hadn't they. He cocked his head expectently, feigning interest and curiosity. For his part the interrogator was good. Most would have said something then, but this man sat down across the table, and carefully laid down a tablet and stylus, opened a briefcase on the left side, the lid hiding its contents, and placed a still steaming cup of beverage, it smelled like hot chocolate, on the right. Normally any other interrogator would have started at this point, but this one leaned back in his chair and started fiddling with something on his tablet, paying no attention to the man he was supposed to be interrogating.

The prisoner had to admit this was a different technique, but one obviously meant to unsettle him. Well, he though and reached for the man's hot chocolate, two could play this game. The blond man looked up and raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything as his beverage was drained. The prisoner set the cup back down and waited, the blond man simply clicked something on his tablet and then went back to work. Shrugging, the prisoner leaned back in his chair, aping the interrogator and closed his eyes to rest. After a moment, he realized he was feeling a tad light headed and his mind seemed to be...oh crap-

His eyes shot open, and he stared at the blond interrogator across the table. _Now_ he was staring him in the eye. Absently he clicked something on the tablet, "two minutes and eight seconds. You noticed faster than I expected."

Still smiling the interrogator reached into the briefcase and tossed a small vial onto the table, Sodium thiopental.

The prisoner managed to laugh, "you know that _truth serums_," he twisted the name, "don't actually work."

"Not as such, but they should make you more talkative, and really, I need some entertainment this afternoon. I had a really boring flight."

The two men stared at one another for a moment before the prisoner snorted and shrugged, "then let me entertain you."

Blondie appeared unruffled by this, "do you affirm that you are the terrorist known as Firefly?"

"I affirm that I am known as Firefly - do you need me to spell that? - but I don't like the word terrorist. I prefer visionary."

"Indeed. How so?"

"I'm simply speeding up evolution. Culling the weak, making way for an improved human race, or more likely a better race that will evolve after ours is gone."

"Interesting. Do go on."

Firefly raised an eyebrow, "and what precisely do you mean? Explain how many people I intend to kill? Where I'm going to kill them? That would seem somewhat counterproductive if you stopped evolution wouldn't it?"

His tongue was definitely loosened by the drug, but he had more than enough mental acuity to be able to filter what was coming out. Besides, in a little while his liver would filter the worst of it and this exercise would be quite pointless, but for now he might as well just play along and enjoy himself. If this guy really did represent the BTIs, then listening to him might give away a few hinits about what kind of agents were employed by the organization.

"We're not trying to stop evolution, just to..." for a second the interrogator seemed at a loss for words, but continued almost instantly, "just trying to understand your goal better."

"It's what everyone should want," Firefly continued, right now he didn't need to lie. In this case the truth would likely rattle the investigator more than any fiction. "The human race has destroyed the planet with their industry, the destruction of the environment, our ever-expanding subburban culture, and no one does anything about it. Even the Steens, while I applaud their little invention that finally got us off these fossil fuels, insist on keeping people alive long past when nature should have culled them from our lives. Its just disgusting."

Though Firefly had continued unabated, he had noticed a slight dilation of the interviewer's pupils when he mentioned the Steens. That was interesting. Edwin had been one of the many top docs involved in the analysis of the bodies recovered from Black Thursday, and given that his usually brisk lecture travels had been curtailed recently suggested that this was important. Perhaps he'd become involved with the BTIs. That would be very interesting.

"I see," the interrorgator replied.

"No, by the tone of your voice, clearly you don't," Firefly decided he would enjoy goading the man for the next half hour, it looked like it could be quite sporting. "Humanity is a stain on the face of this planet, like a cancer. It destroys the body that bore it and must be removed."

The interrorgator seemed to ponder this for a moment, "but of course, if you wipe out humanity, you'll be dead also."

"So? I'll be dead eventually anyway. It does't really matter if I go, so long as everyone else does too."

"Interesting perspective. I take it your not a family man then."

"Good lead in Mr. ... what should I be calling you?"

"You can call me Psych Out."

"All right Mr. PO," Firefly said, pronouncing each of the two letters separately with a certain degree of derision, "no, I'm not a family man, not that that's going to help you any. You can't threaten my 'loved ones'" he twisted the two words, "I don't have any. And you can't use that to identify me, because there are thousands of single men around the planet. And you can't learn about my psyche from it, much though I'm sure you'd love too Psych O."

Psych Out appeared unperturbed by play on words, and made a few notes on the table.

"I've always wondered," Firefly interupted before Psych Out could finish jotting stuff down, "do you guys actually write anything when you do that, or are you just doodling?"

That finally garnered a reaction, if a slight narrowing of the eyes could be called a reaction.

"You take to the drug better than most."

"Much though it will disappoint you, my wits have not been obtunded."

"Clearly. But to continue-"

"But of course."

"Its rude to interrupt."

"Well, I'm sure you think its also rude to blow people up, but I do that for a living."

Psych Out was at a loss to answer that one for a moment, then shrugged and continued, "well, exactly how many people _have _you killed?"

"My count's just over sixteen thousand right now, but I might be off by a few dozen, some reports are quite inaccurate and I can't exactly go in to verrify most of them you understand. Its quite inconvenient. "

"I'm sure," Psych Out replied, mock seriously, "can you tell me anything about your early life Firefly?"

Firefly stayed silent for a while, waiting to give his response, his mouth ached to start moving, but he was carefully schooling his response to the drug while he decided what to tell this 'Psych Out', if anything at all. After half a minute, he settled on being honest about certain aspects of his upbringing. There was nothing there that would be useful, and it was an interesting story to pass the time with, he hadn't had reason to tell anyone for years, so he might as well now.

"When I was a young lad," he said in an unnecessarily dramatic voice, "my parents beat me with whips."

Psych Out stopped writing and tapped his stylus against the edge of his tablet impatiently, eyeing Firefly from the top of his eyes.

The terrorist snorted, "jeez, you have even less of a sense of humour than the MI6 guys your working with. My parents were middle class, nothing special, dad went to work every day, mom stayed home till I was eight. Then everything changed. My dad was killed in a car accident and my mom committed suicide a few days later. My brother and I were left alone to do, really whatever we wanted."

"Social services didn't step in then?" asked Psych Out.

"Nice try, I'm not telling you what country that was."

"Can't blame me for trying."

"Wanna bet?" Firefly sneered. "Moving on, we kind of ran wild for a few years, and then one day my brother got a hold of some firecrackers. When we were in school, there was this one bully who made our lives miserable, the only thing in life he loved was his pet dog. You'd be amazed what a few firecrackers can do to a dog. We shoved a couple up its but, and strapped a few more to it in the middle of the night. When they went off it wasn't a pretty sight." Firefly laughed at the memory. He'd been hidden behind a bush when they went off and tore the daschund to shreds, the blood spray had been quite remarkable.

"The noise drew the other boy out of course, and he was horrified. I always wondered how many years of counseling that took to clear up."

Psych Out seemed to shift uncomfortably in his chair before inquiring, "I take it that was what began your love of explosives?"

"Oh quite, it was an entirely fascinating experience, observing what a few simple chemical reactions could do to destroy a living body. All any thing is, is a bunch of carefully controlled reactions of their own, and its truely amazing what happens when they meet a bunch of uncontrolled reactions."

Observing just how uncomfortable Psych Out was becoming, Firefly decided to embellish the tale a bit, "it was particularly interesting to see the stomach explode and spill the dog's last meal everwhere," he affected a contemplative look, "I suppose that would have been kibbles if I remember correctly."

"Interesting," Psych Out said tonelessly, "very interesting."

"Making you uncomfortable?" mocked Firefly.

"Just wishing I'd skipped lunch," replied Psych Out, recovering somewhat. "So, what did you do after you blew up the dog?"

"Well, my brother and I ran around for a while, making a general nuisance of ourselves," Firefly decided not to elaborate too much as some of the things they had done had definitely been recorded by the local police and would give away a bit too much. Still, there were parts from later in his life which wouldn't be nearly so unique.

"Nothing truly remakable until we were in our late teens, we joined a terrorist group as a pair of saboteurs and worked with them for a while."

"Which group?" Psych Out didn't even bother to disguise the question.

"Oh, the People's Liberation Front for Equitable Treatment. I think. Something like that."

Psych Out nodded and scribbled some more notes. Firefly knew he'd given the right name, everyone would remember it, the New York subway bombing of 2018 had catapulted the group to fame but had also led to it becoming a target for every intelligence organization worldwide. Firefly was fairly certain that he was the only member of the group still alive and not incarcerated somwhere around the globe. Of course, the subway bombing had its own significance for Firefly, he and his brother had been separated to hit different targets at the same time. Each had been inserted under cover a full year in advance, given identities, fake jobs, everything they needed to blend in and plan. Firefly remembered his morning surveys of the station he was targeting very well, over the first few days nothing unusual had happened, but after a couple weeks he'd noticed an attractive brunette staring at him standing on the platform. After a few days she'd approached him and asked why he always waited on the platform, but never got on the trains. Firefly hadn't been prepared for that one and had stumbled out some lame excuse about waiting for someone, which had led her to offer to wait with him. He'd managed to shoo her off, but after that she started bringing him coffee when she arrived each morning. They'd struck up a friendship, then a relationship, eventually moving in together a month before the bombing was to occur. He'd never told her about his plans, but the day of the bombing he had left early to set everything up, leaving a ring and a note on the bedside table telling her not to go to work today, that he'd be home around 10:30. Everything with the bombings had gone off without a hitch, or so it seemed until he had come home, waiting for him on the kitchen table was another note in her hand,  
'Sorry, major meeting this morning, I'll be home as soon as I can  
I'll probably see you at the station anyway, I'm taking my normal train  
love, your fiance  
P.S. You still have to ask me the question'  
Of course, Firefly had spent a year staking out that specific train for a reason, and now it was done with.

He didn't remember what he'd done the next six weeks, though he was fairly certain that it involved copious amounts of alcohol. Eventually the Liberation Front had retrieved him, and only then had he learned that his brother had been shot by police after the bombings.

Psych Out interrupted his thoughts, "gloating over the subway bombings I take it?"

Firefly looked up, trying to keep the rage from his eyes, "something like that."

Psych Out glared, "they worked so well, why haven't you bombed any other subways?"

"Too easy," growled Firefly, "I like a challenge. What's the matter, know someone on the subway?"

"Yeah, my wife. We'd just gotten back from our honeymoon the day before."

"Well, at least I ended it before you had any offspring to add to the environmental destruction," Firefly snarled. Partly he was hoping to set off Psych Out and break his calm facade, but mostly he wanted to cover his own hurt and transfer it to someone else. Fire did indeed rage behind Psych Out's eyes, but he managed to control it before continuing.

"So, subway bombings are too easy? What exactly do you consider a challenge then?"

Deflecting the question for a moment, Firefly interjected, "I bet your hoping that I'll start talking about Cobra and Black Thursday aren't you?"

"I was getting to that, but if you want to jump ahead be my guest."

"Well, if we can cut past this charade," Firefly leaned back in his chair, "I was involved in the bombing of the French parliament, but I was just on contract. I thought it was an isolated job, though I did wonder why they wanted it done at that exact moment. I was more than a little impressed that Cobra had managed to orchestrate so many different attacks around the world without any of you bumblers even noticing. I mean, none of you '_intelligence'_ types are that bright, but I would have figured that even you would notice something that big. Looks like I overestimated you all. Again."

Once more, Psych Out refused to rise to the offered bait, and Firefly sighed, the man was really good at his job he had to admit, most interrogators would have snapped long before now and attacked him, and been subsequently hauled out of the room. Firefly had to admit a certain respect for the man, he was almost as good at his job as Firefly was. Interesting.

"So," Psych Out continued after making more notes, "how many other jobs have you done for Cobra?"

"Twelve," Firefly answered without hesitation, "in fact, you probably have heard about most of them." There was no point in lying right now, the truth was more fun.

"The airport in Krackow was one I presume?"

"Yes, that one was quite enjoyable, you have no idea how difficult it was to wire the explosives to make that cobra symbol perfectly symmetrical on that runway with no one noticing. The tunnels under it weren't exactly designed to accomodate the design. That was an interesting challenge. Then there was the bombing at Buckingham which those blasted MI6 agent's foiled. I have to say though, the guy who chased me on the motorcycle was quite good. If I hadn't seen those kids, I don't think I would have shaken him that easily."

"I'll be sure to pass on your compliments."

"Oh, by the way," asked Firefly, "whatever happened to those two children? Dead I hope?" He knew full well that both had died in hospital the next week, but he knew it would rattle Psych Out a little more.

Psych Out completely ignored the question, which would have inadvertenly confirmed the answer anyway, and instead deflected with one of his own, "you seem to get quite a kick out of killing people."

"Best entertainment in the world," Firefly grinned, enjoying the discomfort on Psych Out's face.

The two men lapsed into silence for a moment.

Firefly broke the silence, "May _I_ ask a question?"

"Go for it."

"What time is it."

Psych Out raised an eyebrow, but complied, "three fifty-nine."

"And how many seconds?"

"That's two questions." Psych Out paused, but shrugged, "forty-six seconds."

Firefly leaned back in his chair, "well, then I'm afraid this conversation's over and that's all we have time for."

"Really," Psych Out replied, "going somewhere?" He failed to keep amusement from keeping into his voice.

"Actually," replied Firefly, "I'm just going to step out for some air."

He smiled at Psych Out's confused expression as the final second before four o`clock ticked away, and then the charges went off. Carefully laid C4 and plastic explosives vaporized the wall behind him and of the rooms directly on all sides. The floor caved and gave way the last chunk breaking off with the jagged edge directly underneath his chair`s rear legs. A shard of stone blew uncomfortably close to his right ear, but left him unscathed.

Firefly grinned sardonically, "I've enjoyed our talk, lets never do it again."

Giving a mock salute he tilted the chair backwards and back flipped into seamingly thin air, where his outstretched arm caught hold of a rope ladder dangling from what looked like a traffic helicopter.

Psych Out was left staring out of the gaping blast hole as the terrorist climbed to freedom. Before the helicopter climbed out of sight, Firefly threw something towards Psych Out, which he caught with ease. Shaking his head Psych Out couldn't help but smile, it was a synth-skin mask. That made all the recordings from this room quite useless for identification. Seemed like someone knew how to plan ahead.

Around him MI6 agents stormed the room and took pot-shots at the fleeing helicopter. Psych Out returned the salute towards the fleeing chopper, wondering if Firefly would see. He walked back to the table, and stowed his tablet back in the crowed briefcase, snapped the lid and catches closed and made his way out of the building. Looked like he'd make the 7:30 out of Hethrow after all.


	20. 04 24 2033 Steel Brigade Commander

**04/24/2033 - Steel Brigade Commander**

_In transit over Canadian Arctic_

Above my head, the twin rotors of the Tomahawk beat a steady rhythm carrying us steadily north. Outside the porthole I can see cargo ships passing through Canada's Northwest Passage in transit between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. Its been a long time since I've been this far north. Long enough that Alaska was still the 50th state. Can't believe the previous administration didn't try to fight that business.

I blink at my HUD to bring up the compass. Its deviation continues as we head farther north into the Arctic Circle. Admittedly, I've only been with the team for two short weeks, but I wish they'd trust me with where we're going. This team has an 11 man command staff, and somehow, I know less than the average Sergent it seems. I guess I'm still on probation for the time being.

I adjust my helmet's view to one side to keep an eye of my seat-mates for this flight: Lifeline, my fellow Colonel and Flint, warrant officer. Clearly the two of them have known each other for some time and get along quite well. Interesting. Their personalities seem to be diametrically opposed, I can't see them having ever gotten along.

Not that it matters. So long as the team is cohesive, it doesn't matter how likely or unlikely it is.

I lean my head against the back of my helmet, contemplating the journey, listening with half an ear to their inane conversation. Something to do with trades in the NHL, can you believe it? Members of the most elite military unit ever created, and they're talking about _hockey._ Unbelievable. They should be more concerned with hunting down terrorists than overpaid athletes.

Then again, perhaps Dr. Steen sympathizes with his fellow overpaid egomaniacs. He _did_ buy the Calgary Leafs or whatever they're called.

I flip off the external audio and open intel files for review. That's the way we'll catch these terrorists, not by lazing around.

-

_Alert, Nunavut, Canada - Four Hours Later_

The engines above my head slowly rev down as our wheels touch the icy ground. Based on how the compass is pointing, and the external terrain, it is fairly clear we're in Alert. Mind you, the big fricking sign saying "Welcome to Alert" is a bit of a clue in and of itself. Real bright idea, big blazing sign for a military installation, if anything in Canada can actually be called that. Cold War early warning system indeed. Warning the Commies where they are more like.

I activate my helmet's external speakers, "I believe the mission briefing said something about an underground hanger."

"It did," Lifeline responds, "I'm not sure where everyone is. Permafrost and Kwinn were supposed to be waiting for us."

I have to roll my eyes at this. Two guys pulled away from work to tell us where we are? What a waste of manpower. Even up here, I'm sure they have something better to do. Well, maybe not. This must be where careers go to die.

Lifeline is approaching some building, his ridiculous red parka marking him out from what I can only expect to be several kilometers away. Seriously, are we _trying _to attract polar bears?

I follow, reluctantly. Why doesn't someone just try the door. These shacks can't be more than a few meters on a side. And yet somehow, the idiots walk right past all the larger - if that word even applies here - buildings and make their way towards what looks like an outhouse. Now I'm not arctic expert, but why the hell would you stick an outhouse in the base rather than use indoor plumbing. They can't be _that_ backwards up here can they? Well...they _do _have a beaver as a national animal.

Lifeline cracks open the door.

Well now, that's interesting. Its _not_ an outhouse. Its an elevator. Perhaps this isn't a waste of my time after all.

"Seems to be working." This from master of the obvious, Flint.

Rolling my eyes again, I step past Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum and into the elevator.

"After you," mutters Lifeline. Whiny baby. Get on with the job.

One button. Makes things easier. I push it as the other two cram into the lift. Must not be a very large underground space if the car is this -

I feel my stomach lodge in my throat as the car fires down the shaft at speeds above free-fall. It jams to a stop 3.45 seconds later. I feel my knees pop, but both Lifeline and Flint seem to have been prepared for this. So nice of them to let me know. The doors open and I step out into an area vaguely reminiscent of the bridge of the starship Enterprise. In the middle of the room is a bear. No, not a bear, a man in a white parka shouting orders at a staff. On several screens there are ongoing firefights between men in orange prison uniforms, and soldiers in uniforms that look like greenshirts. On another off to the right is what I assume to be a schematic of the facility. I blink a couple times to take an image of the layout and then magnify it in my HUD.

This place is a lot bigger than I expected, much like the PIT. These guys really have a thing for unnecessary expense. There's no need to hide a military force. The more people see it, the more they fear it, and the more your enemy's minds do your work for you. Hiding like this just emboldens them. Why would you hide if your not afraid. But its not my place to make those decisions. At least not yet its not.

Based on the schematic, this facility should hold at least five thousand inmates, but based on the combat on the screens, only a few dozen were currently incarcerated, but they've managed to arm themselves somehow.

Lifeline brushes past my shoulder, "welcome to The Cooler. Not quite the tour I had planned."

The cooler. Interesting. Enough double meanings there to write a book or two. But again, that's not my job. What's next? The Slammer? The Base? _sigh_.

"What's going on here Permafrost?" Lifeline asks the guy doing to Polar Bear impression.

"What's it look like," the guy sounds like a polar bear for that matter, "jailbreak."

"Forgive me, but that's impossible."

"Wraith."

Oh, the boogieman got them out. Take some responsibility ya turd. You screwed up. Bawdily. Or, more likely, the cursory background checks you probably run up here failed you and someone let them out. And what's the warrant officer cursing about?

"Is he still here?"

Oh please don't tell me that medic-of-the-year over there actually thinks there's some spook out there ruining things? I may need to shoot the both of them and explain myself later.

"Third screen, second row."

Unbelievable. What is wrong with these peo-

Oh, that's interesting. In the middle of the third screen there's a man in armor fighting off a small squad of men. About two dozen are dead nearby.

A couple blinks activate face matching software in my hub. Oh..._that's_ Wraith. So this team's not the only one obsessed with these stupid code names. Or perhaps they randomly assigned it to him. Not that it matters.

"What floor is he on?"

My query causes both Permafrost and Lifeline to turn. The formers head is clad in a black balaclava, hiding his expression, but the growl of his voice suggests irritation, "Who is this Lifeline?"

"Steel Brigade Commander. Mind you, we've still got to get him his Brigade, but its a work in progress."

He grunts, "so long as he can fight. Sergent Harlan, you take 3 men and hold the command center. The rest of you with me. Colonels, if your staying here keep an eye on these screens."

As if. Lead from the front. Terrorize the enemy. This man knows nothing. I sincerely hope he's not in charge here.

"Of course we're coming 'Frost," Lifeline replies, snatching an ammunition satchel and SMG from a rack.

Well, perhaps he's not completely useless as I first suspected.

"Very well then. I'm taking these men down to the dock to back up Shipwreck. We can't let these guys get a hold of a sub. You and Flint bolster the squad on the 9th level. If steel-head here wants to take on Wraith, he's welcome to head off to the 6th level."

"Another day another bunch of corpses," Flint mutters as we head out. I follow at the end of the line onto the bridge and wait as the door seals behind me. I turn to ensure that it isn't in danger of being breached. Mag Locked. Level with the wall. Good. The glass windows to the control center are shuttered. This bridge is the only access in and out, connecting to the third level of cells. Below is a 5 story drop to water below. Practical. A drop of that height would be likely to break legs on an untrained individual, and the temperature of arctic waters would prevent anyone without protective gear from surviving more than a few minutes. They would never reach the surface.

I back down to the middle of the bridge. The elevator we came down in is concealed behind a rock wall. As a matter of fact, the command center and the levels above it are part of a large rock column with their windows protected with metal shutters. There's only a single method of escape without inside help - through the control center we just left.

That raises only a single question in my mind. How did this 'Wraith' get in?

Of course, there's only a single answer to that, he had inside help.

Well, I'll just have to hunt him down too. The others have moved ahead. Further observation shows that the cell block floors are connected using stairs rather than lifts. A wise choice. And the stairs run straight from the end of the bridge up or down to the top and bottom levels. No switchbacks where traps can be laid.

Four levels above, armed inmates appear, aiming down at our forces on the bridge. I drop to one knee and prepare to return fire, but three cracks ring out from above and behind me, and the three men topple. Instinctively I turn, rather than changing the view in my HUD. near the roof the end of a sniper rifle can be seen on a ledge at the top of the command pillar.

"Nice shooting Barrel Roll!" I hear Permafrost yell. There's a name I've never heard before. Interesting. I'll have to look over the team roster again at some point. For now I have a job to do. My legs carry me to the end of the bridge and up three flights of stairs directly behind Lifeline and Flint. I drop off and head into the complex. Gunfire sounds from my right, directing me where I need to go.

Around the corner, I run into a group of greenshirts, doggedly holding off one man in a metal suit. When I saw them in the command center's screens, there were over a dozen of them. Now, only six remain, the bodies of their fellows fallen around them. Well, time for me to do my job; I raise my rifle, smile, pull the trigger...and the man disappears.

"Ah shit. Not again," says one of the men.

Again? This happens a lot?

My curiosity is cut short as the speaker's head snaps back, a bullet mangling his right eye, and probably what was once a brain behind it. Two men stand frozen in the middle of the corridor while the other three duck into cell doors on either side. Before the first two can make a move, they are scythed down by gunfire from the unseen assailant. But the muzzle flashes from his weapon give him away, and I open fire on his position.

The three survivors are equally quick. They focus their fire on him, one aiming for his current position, and the others tracking fire slightly to either side of him.

What do you know, there's actually some guys around here with brains. Lets see if they can get through this without having them splattered all over the wall.

Whatever invisibility field, or parlor tricks this guy's suit does, its got to use a tremendous amount of energy to keep up moving projections like that during combat. Switching to infrared filters.

Much better. Sucker boy is lit up like a Christmas tree. Then again, perhaps jackrabbit might have been a better comparison. I manage to barely keep my sights on him as he manages a front flip over my head, landing in a crouch behind me and taking off for the stairs.

"Ah Hell no," comes from my left. One of the greenies, tossing a grenade after him. Obviously of the anti-personnel variety as it sticks to the left arm of the fleeing target. His heat signature shimmers as he reacts, frantically trying to dislodge it. He doesn't manage in time, the force of the explosion blowing him into a side hallway just feet from the stairs.

To their credit the other three don't waste time and energy celebrating their victory and instead follow on my heals to finish him off before he manages to recover. In motion, I flip my HUD back to regular vision; foresight which is rewarded when I turn the corner. The explosion wrecked, or at least damaged his cloaking system.

I don't give him a chance to recover, simply raise my rifle and fire. My shots are joined by three other streams. Once all four trail off, I turn.

"What are your names soldiers?" I ask.

"I'm Checkpoint, that's Rook and Red Zone. Technically we haven't earned promotion to official member status, but our duties here were supposed to be our trial. Turned out to be a bit more rigorous testing than originally planned." He shrugs at me, "not that it matters either way."

Well, at least he's smart enough to recognize that. The fact that he was involved in this pathetic event at all disgusts me, but at least this trio seems vaguely competent. Perhaps a decent group to take to start training for a superior counter-terrorism force within the Joes. Something that can actually do the job that the rest of them is supposed to be able to do.

"All right. Leave the body. We'll deal with it later."

Lifeline and Flint choose this moment to come jogging around the corner. Slackers. Probably waiting for us to finish the job and then come to 'offer support'. Humph. Pathetic.

"Top three levels are cleared out," Lifeline puffs between breaths. A doctor that out of shape? Does this team even have a selection process? "I see you guys are finished here. Good work on wraith."

He approaches. No doubt planning to take credit for the kill.

Instead, he drops to a knee to check his pulse. Check his pulse? Are you...oh. The bone saw in his hand explains what he's doing as he draws it roughly through the armored man's neck. Blood spills from the severed carotid arteries, and the cartilage of his trachea cracks.

"Was that really necessary?...er...sir?" asks Red Zone. Or was that Rook. Doesn't matter.

"No, but this would be the fourth time someones said they managed to kill him. I don't want to run into him again. No matter how much lead you put into him."

Thankfully my external speakers are off, or my loud sigh would have split the air. Lead. No one's use that in bullets for a century. Does he not even know that?

"All right," Flint interrupts, "Permafrost says that most of the escapees have made their way down to the sub dock. He and Shipwreck's crew are holding them off, but they need backup when they can get it.

Idiots. A few inmates should be no match for armed guards. Pathetic.

-

_Command Center; The Cooler - Five Hours later_

Shockingly enough, Permafrost's incompetent security staff has managed to clear the rest of the complex, and those inmates not killed in combat have been reincarcerated. Most of the greenshirts killed were downed by this Wraith fellow. No one is willing to admit that he got in using inside help. They insist that he snuck in using his 'stealth mode' and there was no way to prevent it.

I know better, and I'll be doing my utmost to root out the traitor here.

Why? Because that's just what I do.

**  
**Code Name: Steel Brigade Commander  
Subunit: Steel Brigade  
File Name: CLASSIFIED  
Birthplace: CLASSIFIED  
Rank: O6  
Primary Military Specialty: Special Forces  
Secondary Military Specialty: Counter Espionage


	21. 06 06 2033 Destro

**06/06/2033 - Destro**

_Cruising Altitude - Approaching Shetland, Scotland_

On this summers morning the coastal town of Grutness was quiet. Situated at the southern tip of the Shetland mainland, the most northerly landmass in the British Isles. Shetland's population hovered around 22,000, and had for many years. The islands had a long history with the Vikings, German traders and more recently the Scots. At the southern tip of the island lay Jarlshof. A remarkable prehistoric archaeological site, dating from bronze and iron age settlers.

Farther north lay another historical site, one that interested the Baroness far more than the tripe pulled from a traveler's pamphlet that made up most of the intelligence report on the island. Just half a kilometer south of the hamlet of Hellister lay Castle McCullen. The target of this visit. Anastasia Decobray leaned back in her seat. The Sumburgh Airport's 4,678 foot runway was the only one on the island large enough to accommodate her jet, and barely at that. She then had to sit through an hours drive to reach the her destination. This trip was nothing but an inconvenience. The Commander knew full well that these McCullens weren't interested in working with Cobra. The elder McCullen had actively opposed Cobra, and was the main reason they still lacked major operations in Central Canada, England, Australia or Southern South America. This turf war had almost brought their organization to the attention of the local governments prematurely. Something McCullen knew Cobra couldn't afford. And yet, somehow the Commander insisted that McCullen, a complete unknown, would be amenable to an alliance. Once again, Anastasia had reason to doubt the commander's sanity.

The pilot leaned back through the door, "Approaching the airstrip m'lady. One of our agents has a car waiting."

-

_Castle Destro - 23 miles North-Northwest _

Destro McCullen the twenty-seventh strolled down the long stairs from the suite of rooms at the top of the castle. A suite still in the process of being redecorated for its new master after the departure of its old. James McCullen the twenty-sixhad died, ostensibly of a heart attack, less than a month prior, and the staff were still adjusting to their new management. One thing they did realize though was that proper deference must be paid to their new lord. Outside the castle walls the clanging of rapiers could be heard as the Iron Grenadiers perfected their dueling skills. Sometimes the old ways truly were best.

At the bottom of the stairs, two servants scuttled out of the way and down a side passage so as to not disrupt their master's morning stroll. Destro smiled. The working class needed to learn its place. A few beheadings of the less cooperative had seen to that. A pause on the balcony off the stairs allowed an unobstructed view of the Grenadiers training in the courtyard below. Fog was still clinging stubbornly to the fields, combining with full battle armor to slow the movements and accuracy of the men. Once they learned to fight in these conditions, they could fight anywhere. As well they would be called to eventually if Destro's plans succeeded.

Not that that was a concern this morning. This day had two focuses: the 'surprise' visit of Cobra's emissary, and dealing with events at the factory in Kazakhstan. Oh yes, Cobra was certain that the Decobray's visit was a surprise, but Destro's agent within Cobra had learned about it over a week ago. General Mayhem was on station at the Sumburgh Airport to keep an eye on their new visitor, and the Cobra Viper who was to drive her had been paid handsomely to turn his allegiance. A payment that would never go through due to his untimely death tomorrow.

It amused Destro to play the Commander's games. If he thought the Iron Grenediers would serve as an adjunct to his terrorist force, he was sadly mistaken. Though the world may not know who was responsible for Black Thursday, Destro did, and fully intended to use that as a major bargaining chip. While some sort of agreement may be beneficial for the expansion of MARS industries, the full weight of the Iron Grenediers would eventually be needed elsewhere and could not be wasted on the frivolities the Commander was interested in. But let his lackeys come. Perhaps they would bring an offer of interest.

-  
_  
Sumburgh Airport_

Decobray strode down the stairs from the cabin of the jet onto the asphalt runway. Even at just over five feet, she managed a regal bearing casting a disapproving eye over what passed for a terminal. Two other planes sat on the runway, both marked with the insignia of MARS industries. Well, hopefully that meant he was home, otherwise this would be a wasted trip. Shaking her head, she strode over to the waiting Bentley that would ferry her to the castle.

"Blackout," she acknowledged her counterpart.

"Baroness."

They both climbed into the car and headed north. Wild Weasel watched them go from the cockpit of the jet, waiting until they were out of sight to activate his radio. A click on the other end of the line was the only acknowledgement, "They're on their way. Destro's jets are still here. I will rendezvous with Munitia in forty-seven minutes."

Another two clicks confirmed receipt and Wild Weasel signed off.

-  
_  
Jarlshof Historical Sight_

A tourist in a yellow raincoat snapped another picture. Had anyone else been at the ruins that morning, they would have realized he was using a telephoto lens to photograph a wall less than 30 feet ahead of him. They might also have noticed the parabolic antenna protruding over his shoulder pointed back towards the Sumburgh Airport. But as it was, he was the only one braving the cold and fog of the early morning. The camera clicked another half dozen times before it lowered revealing an entirely forgettable face, devoid of any remarkable features. Owen King removed a blackberry from beneath his jacket, and transferred the memory card from the camera to the handheld device. The touch of a few buttons completed this part of the mission.

The camera and radio dish quickly folded into a backpack, protected from the outside moisture. King returned to his Landrover and propped the tourist brochure for Lerwick on the dash. His only concern was whether Michelion could carry out his part of the mission.

-

_Scalloway _

King need not have worried. Michelion Paolino strolled around the circumference of Scalloway Castle, his eyes casting down main street, watching the woman loitering along the wharf across the street from the Barber's shop two hundred meters away. The locals took little interest in her, her demeanor suggesting she was waiting for someone. Michelion wasn't sure what she was up to but it was a guarantee that it wasn't good, otherwise he'd have never been assigned to watch her.

For his part, he looked like any other of the few hundred tourists who passed through the Shetland islands every year. He'd already spent over an hour walking around the castle, and he figured much longer might look suspicious, so he sidled across the road and pretended to be taking an interest in the fishing boats that lined the docks. His path temporarily took the woman out of his sight as a building interposed itself between them. He didn't allow himself to worry though, if he hurried to keep her in sight, his cover might be blown. Instead he snapped a few pictures of the boats.

These weren't for any intel purposes, but because they reminded him of his own childhood in Sao Paulo. His family had lived in a corrugated tin shack on the edge of town with many others in the slums. Their family was better off than most however as they'd been able to cobble together a home with several rooms over the seven generations they'd lived there. What even Michelion himself had not known was that his forefathers had been saving money from their jobs, and from what they could barter from the city dump and had amassed a respectable sum of money. Most of it had gone for his and his sister's education, a debt that they could never repay, even now that they'd moved their family into the center of the city.

Michelion shook himself free of the reminiscences. They had no bearing on his current situation, and he must not allow himself to be distracted. He rounded the corner, watching a single car putter through the traffic circle and continued down the main street. His target still leaned up outside the barber shop. On a whim, he decided he might as well get his hair trimmed while he waited. Wild Weasel wouldn't arrive for another half hour, and he couldn't very well keep walking up and down the main street without drawing attention to himself.

-  
_  
Sumburgh Airport_

General Mayhem watched Wild Weasel depart the jet and climb into a recently arrived taxi. Very interesting, he thought to himself, the laird will be interested to hear this. Off in the distance, a Landrover could be seen departing Jarlshof and heading north. Something about it seemed out of place to Mayhem. Landrovers weren't uncommon on the island, but this one seemed unusually new in comparison to most of them, but he decided to dismiss the worry. It was probably just a tourist who had come across on one of the ferries in the last couple days. He shook his head, and removed his cell phone. Voltar would have to inform the laird about the other Cobra's activities while Mayhem followed him to ensure that he didn't compromise the master's plans on the island.

-

_Bently passing Northpunds_

The Bently flew north along the country road, Blackout elaborating on the previous weeks events, "and then one of Destro's lackeys, Undertow I'm fairly certain, bought me off for information about your visit."

"I assume you gave it to him?"

"As per the commander's orders. I still don't understand what this mission hopes to gain. I doubt this McCullen will be any different than the last one."

Decobray pursed her lips, but relied honestly, "neither do I. Its simply a waste of our time. McCullen may think we're being played with these little games, but Cobra is far smarter than that. He'll learn in time." She shook her head.

-

_Castle Destro_

Voltar exited the communications center and made his way towards the garage to report the latest developments. An extra Cobra at the airport made little difference, but one poking around the island unguarded could potentially become a problem. Especially if he came across some things that should remain buried for the time being. He strode on, oblivious of the tiny fly skittering along the roof above him, but the fly, or rather the fly's controller saw Voltar. Some ingenious work by scientist Seymour Fine had developed the intricate surveillance drones, and a small army of them now buzzed unnoticed through the castle's halls, transmitting their data to a receptor high overhead. None of this intruded on Voltar's sense of urgency as he approached Destro to bring the news.

-  
_  
40,000 Feet Overhead  
_

[WRITER'S NOTE: Yes, this section is deliberately blank. Curious?]

-  
_  
Bently passing Tingwall Airport_

The Decobray and Blackout sat in silence as the country flew past. Both were impatient to reach the castle, neither being the tourist type.

Blackout glances in the rear view mirror, "that Landrover finally turned off at Lerwick; another three miles and I'd have had to ditch a body."

"Destro wouldn't have been happy about deaths on his turf. At least ones that he didn't order."

Blackout grunted in agreement, and slid the car onto the right side of the road to avoid a stray sheep, "damn I'll be glad to get out of this stinking country."

-

_Castle Destro_

The servants stood at attention as their Laird gave orders in preparations for Decobray's visit to the castle. Dissent rankled among several standing at attention, but this was mixed with a fear for their lives. Many of their number had been executed very publicly for opposing their new master. Even Voltar, vaunted general of the Iron Grenadiers had lost an eye to the sword. MARS own prosthetic technology had compensated for the loss, but the glaring red orb reminded everyone in the castle that their master lacked neither the will, nor the strength to rule.

The meeting was soon dismissed, the attendants given their orders in no uncertain terms. A small squad of Iron Grenadier trainees was stationed on the front lawn going through an advanced drill, their fumbling giving the impression of incompetence. The cook was made to prepare a meal far above normal standards, and the cleaning staff to put out the trappings usually reserved for Corporate parties. A simple message was to be conveyed: the castle's new owner was decadent and incompetent. A message designed strictly to drive the emissary away.

The appearance of the castle was altered in a matter of minutes, finished only instants before a Bently was sighted making the turn from the A971.

-  
_  
40,000 Feet Overhead_

"Showtime."

-

_Castle Destro_

Decobray watched Blackout pull the car around to the back of the castle. His information from the servant's quarters would be invaluable to future assualts on this castle. A precaution in the Commander's mind, a certainty in Decobray's. Sooner or later MARS, or more specifically the owner's private army, would become a threat to the Commander's plans. So long as the world's governments continued to be complacent about the threat, Destro remained the soul individual outside of the organization that knew of its existance. An individual who would have to be terminated when the time came, should he not decide to side with the right side.

Five stories overhead, Destro watched the visitors with interest. Decobray was significantly more attractive than intelligence briefings had indicated. Attractive, an athletic figure, supple legs.

"I must have her Voltar."

"My lord, is that wise?" Voltar quieried? He was well aware of his master's indulgence in the pleasures of the flesh, but seducing an agent of Cobra could bring danger on the house. Danger he had to admit, he was not sure even the Grenadiers coud prevent.

"Do not question me Voltar, or you'll lose the other eye."

"Yes Laird."

Below, Decobray reached for the knocker on the door. Her gloved hand never reached it. Instead the double doors swung open silently to reveal a butler waiting for her. His appearance was a bit odd, a red prosthetic where his left eye should have been and a scruffy black beard framing his lower face.

"Welcome Baroness Decobray, we have been expecting you."

Although she refused to let it show on her face, Decobray was disturbed. Her mission had been a secret from all but the upper echelons of Cobra, which meant that the Iron Grenadiers were much more well equiped than they were aware, or the organization had a leak that would have to be removed. Permanently.

She paused before entering the castle, observing a squad or more of Iron Grenadiers going through a sword drill on the side lawn. Memories of her fencing days overlaid themselves with the drill. They weren't very good. Granted, Decobray had made the silver medal in two consecutive fencing Olympic events, but these guys weren't even as good as anyone on the recreational circuit. If this was the best mercenaries Destro had to offer, the Commander was wasting his time. Satisfied, she followed the servant into the castle.

Around back Blackout pulled the Bently into what looked to have once been a stable. He climbed out and surveyed the surroundings, noting the same squad of Iron Grenadiers he's glimpsed from the front of the property. Otherwise, the outside grounds seemed clear. The castle backed onto the inlet, or whatever it was, but had a defensive wall ringing the courtyard. Glancing over his shoulder, he moved towards the open rear gate towards the beach. Whereas most ancient castles used wood and iron gates, this wall was sealed with a pair of sliding stone doors, a rather impressive piece of ancient engineering. But impressive or not, it was immaterial if an assault was ever required; two minutes' work by Firefly would finish it off.

Outside the wall lay a small private dock and two modern boathouses. A luxury racing boat was moored to one side of the exposed pier, while an armored patrol boat was docked at the other. An interesting juxtaposition reflected Blackout as the door to one of the boathouses opened. A man in grease stained overalls stepped out and made directly for Blackout.

" 'cuse ma gov'na, 'an ah 'elp ya?"

"No thank you, just came out here to look at the water."

" 'lenta o' 'ater . 'out much ta see."

Blackout nodded as if he understood the man, and turned as if to look across the water at the far shore. Thankfully the man made no further conversation, instead picking up a barrel from by the gate and dragging it back into the boat house before closing the door. Once inside he lifted the receiver to a black phone, "Viper's being snoopy. Best warn Voltar that he'll need to be taken out."

-

_Lerwick_

Owen King made his way into the cafe. At this hour in the morning it was almost empty save for the wait staff and two salty old sailors who could have passed for embalmed corpses had they not been regularly lifting mugs of the local ale to their lips. He waited, and a moment later the waitress appeared. Without taking his order she set down a tray of breakfast and pot of coffee. Owen smiled acknowledgement and she nodded in reply before once again disappearing into the back. Beneath his plate lay a sealed envelope containing his continuing orders. Unfolding the paper from the side of the table, he used the noise of the paper to cover the tearing noise made by opening the envelope. He scanned it twice before dropping it into the coffee pot which emitted a slight hiss as the acid therein dissolved the paper. So much for heading off to Hawaii he thought.

Twenty minutes later, he brushed the remnants of the meal from his lips with a folded napkin and returned his plate, coffee pot, and a generous tip to the waitress.

-  
_  
Castle Destro_

Decobray waited impatiently in the castle's main hall as instructed by the butler, or whatever he was. She'd watched him walk down through the far doors. His bearing indicated he'd clearly had significant military training, and the slight hitch in his gait indicated his right leg had once been broken somewhere between the knee and the hip. The prosthetic eye was also a clue to battlefield injuries. Perhaps a castoff from the Grenadiers that Destro felt pity for.

But while the butler made an interesting character study, this main hall was far more informative. Half the length of either side was covered with massive portraits of the Castle's Lairds. The portraits on the north wall showed the McCullen's in formal attire, befitting their rank, while those on the south showed the men in the family mask. A plaque on the south wall preceded the first portrait, and Decobray paused to read it before continuing down the hall:

On March 6, 1426 the Battle of St. James was fought near Avranches between the English army of the Duke of Bedford and the French army under Arthur de Richemont. The English victory forced the Duke of Brittany to recognize English Suzerainty. On July 23, Laird James McCullen the First was tried in London and found guilty of selling arms and information to the French. He was imprisoned and tortured for 30 years, his head encompased by an iron mask, and his identity striped away from him in place of the name "Destro". The mask and the name have been adopted as the symbols of Clam McCullen, which will one day re-take its proper place.

Decobray raised an eyebrow after reading the last line. It seemed almost a threat, and yet no company more than MARS had promoted English interests over the last two hundred years. Though the age of the plaque was unclear, the modern English suggested it was no more than a hundred years old. Perhaps left over from a less agreeable McCullen of a previous generation, clearly it's original intent had been abandoned. A shrug and she continued on her way, passing time by analyzing the portraits.

McCullen I looked like the stereotyped mountain man, which his hair all over his head, a scruffy beard. But the bulging muscles underneath his clothing showed a man who knew how to handle himself. By contrast, his masked self seemed like a broken man, even robed in finery once more. The mask didn't help the image as it was crudly formed and appeared to have been pressed to his face while the metal was still molten.

The next half dozen McCullens retained the wild black hair and beard, but looked equally healthy in their masked and unmasked portraits. Their mask or masks, it was unclear whether it was remade for each individual or passed down through the generations, was still made of Iron, but well sculpted and polished. With McCullen VII it changed to a silver mask, or was at least painted as such, the reflection being brighter. The McCullen beard shrunk in size and disappeared altogether with McCullen XIII. The masked portrait of McCullen XIV, an ugly man with a shaved head, was the first to have the mask and sword broach which now adorned the shoulders of all the Iron Grenadiers. Beards made a resurgence for McCullen XVII, the first to wear the black uniform with red cape now made famous by the exploits of the Iron Grenadiers, and McCullen XVIII. It was only with McCullen the XX that the gold helmet was introduced, and from then the uniform remained unchanged.

Over the generations, the McCullen line's appearance approved, the recently deceased McCullen XXVI being in fact rather attractive. Strangely there was as yet no portrait of the castle's newest ruler, something which struck Decobray as odd. The castle's overtly lavish trappings clearly suggested an arrogance of the new owner, and the lack of portrait seemed out of character. She smirked as a thought crossed her mind, probably reserves that portrait for the conquests of his bedroom.

Through the door at the end of the hall she could hear voices. The buttler was speaking with a someone, no doubt a servent of some sort. Decobra resumed pacing the length of the hall, becoming increasingly impatient for the meeting to begin, hoping that Blackout was at least making use of his time.

On the other side of the door, Voltar spoke rapidly with his master, "my laird, I beg you to reconsider, this is a bad idea. What if she..."

"She is in my house Voltar, there is nothing she could do to me, and nothing we need fear. I must take her to my bed. If there is a problem, I know how to deal with her. And should she resist, she, and her compatriot, will never leave alive."

Voltar chafed to reply as he wished, but he knew that this Destro was not as amenable to input as the last, and there was nothing he could do about it. But perhaps he wouldn't have to put up with it much longer. The thought pleased him.

"Send her to my chambers in ten minutes. I shall be prepared."

"Yes Laird," Voltar replied, his teeth set in a grimace.

-

_40,000 Feet overhead_

"Best record this I think."

-

_Castle Destro_ _(Ten minutes later)_

Decobray was striding up the hallway with every intention of bursting through the hand-carved double doors when the butler opened them and waved her through. She passed by without breaking stride.

"Up the stairs m'lady. Oh, and by the way..."

"Yes."

"I assume you were looking at the portraits, the new Laird is not what you would expect."

"How so?"

It seemed as if the butler was leering at her, "you'll see soon enough m'lady. Enjoy yourself."

With that cryptic warning, he departed, leaving a confused Decobray with her foot resting on the first stair. Determination overcame confusion in short order and she continued up the stairs, pausing on the landing to see the view. Below she could see the incompetent cadre of Iron Grenadiers still at their training. Towards the wall, she could also see a man skulking about, most likely Blackout. Well, at least he was getting somewhere, she shook her head. At the top of the stairs was a plush waiting room with deeply cushioned and upholstered chairs. She didn't bother wasting any further time, fully intending to be long gone from Shetland before lunchtime, instead striding straight to the large wooden door and knocking loudly with the heal of her hand.

The door swung open almost instantly, and Decobray had to back away as a very large pair of breasts, veiled only by a thin komono, practically hit her in the face. The dodge backwards afforded a full view of the woman who had answered the door, she was tall with skin the color of obsidian and the figure of a model. Her frustration peaked, _this_ was what had been delaying her meeting with McCullen?

"I am here to speak to Laird McCullen," the title rankled in her throat, but Decobray assumed that this, this amazon, would yield to the title.

Much to her shock, the woman smiled, "_I_ am Laird Jillian McCullen." The voice rang with the authority of someone who was used to attention and obeisance in their presence. Decobray was taken aback, this could not possibly have been what the butler meant by the new McCullen not being what she expected - could it?

The woman calling herself McCullen let loose a low-throated laugh, clearly Decobray's confusion showed on her face, "you don't believe me do you? Of course you don't. No one does."

She turned and walked a few paces into the room, clearly her personal quarters if the furniature was any indication. A curiosity filled Decobray and she followed, allowing the door to close silently behind her.

The woman turned and continued, "as you probably know, my father James Destro McCullen the twenty-sixth, God rest his soul, never married. He had numerous affairs with women all across Europe, leaving many partial heirs. But if you check their birth records, he is not recorded as their father, and in fact disowned every one of them. During one of his business trips to Ethopia, I tried to pick his pocket. I was an urchin on the street, only six years old, at least as close as I can figure, at the time. My parents were both dead, I have no idea how." She smiled at the memory, "My father's wallet was attached to his belt with a chain that I'd failed to notice, and so he caught me. Do you know what he did? He laughed, and gave me the best advice I ever got, 'if you want to hurt someone, go for their bank account, not their petty cash.' I stowed away on his plane when he left. He found me during the flight, and addopted me when we returned. Few outside the core of the organization ever knew that I was his heir."

Decobray was absolutely flustered, but had no choice but to accept the stories. It did explain why the heir to the McCullen empire had never been seen in public, it would have caused an incredible stir.

"I see," she responded. "Interesting though your personal history is, I'm here to talk to you about some business my organization had with yours."

"Oh yes, your 'Cobra' organization. Well, we'll get to that in due time."

"The business cannot-"

"You forget," interrupted McCullen, "You are in my house now, and things here are done by my rules. And there's something else you should know about me, I _always _get what I want."

"And what is is exactly that you want?"

"You."

At first the word did not make sense to Decobray, but as McCullen allowed the komono to fall to the floor, suddenly she understood. She backed quickly towards the door, but her back met the handle of the closed door. McCullen was closing the distance too quickly to allow her to open the door.

"McCullen," Decobray stammered trying to buy a few seconds, "I can assure you that I do not-"

Her protests were cut short as McCullen's lips pressed over hers. A brief moan escaped Decobray's throat as McCullen's right hand gripped her thigh...

****

CONTINUED IN: Who's Conning Who?

Code Name: Destro  
File Name: Jillian "Destro" McCullen XXVII  
Birthplace: Adama, Ethiopia  
Position: MARS CEO/ Director of Iron Grenadiers  
Primary Military Specialty: Weapons Manufacturer  
Secondary Military Specialty: Experimental Weaponry


	22. 06 06 2033 Who's Conning Who?

**06/06/2033 - Whos Conning Who**

_Lurwick _

Owen King, Sneek Peak while on the job, strolled out of the cafe where he'd stopped for breakfast and dug around in the trunk for a map of Shetland. Six weeks ago he'd never even known the island existed, though it did explain the origin of the Shetland ponies that his daughter was so fond of. And now he was headed to Scalloway, ah, here's the map, about seven kilometers to the west. Interesting, that was just a little to the southeast of Castle Destro. Seems strange that Cobra would risk an operation that close to the castle when the Baroness and Blackout were effectively captives there. Strange choice, he reflected and shrugged climbing back into the Landrover.

_The Cove - Formerly RAF Saxa Vode - Unst Island, North Shetland_

Courage sniffed the salty air stirred up by a growing north breeze. It was unfortunate Shipwreck wasn't here, the salty dog could have told him whether they were in for a storm or not. Hopefully the weather would hold out for the rest of the day. He shook his head, it was amazing just how many different operations needed to be run on such a tiny island on a single day. The base had only been open for two weeks, and they were still trying to get it back to functional condition. Originally, it had opened back in 1957, under the Royal Air Force to serve during the Cold War, but it was decommissioned in 2006, and some brilliant individual in the British government had decided to turn it into a tourist resort. That had folded in 2020. Of course, between that and the subsequent decade of disrepair it had taken over a year to get the place serviceable again under cover of a rebuilt RAF fighter testing base. In fact, the SAS had been good enough to provide some of their new Fire-phantoms to populate the runway to keep up the deception.

In the cove to the north east, the conning tower of the Dessaix was just slipping below the waves; Narwhal was taking her out into the ocean on patrol. Thankfully the local farmers generally lived much father south than the pasture land that surrounded the base, not wanting to risk themselves or their flocks in the wind at the north end of the island. Speaking of the wind, it was picking up now, pulling at Courage's uniform, beside him the radio mast creaked slightly, bringing to mind that back in 1962 the wind speed at the base was recorded at 177 mph...just before the measuring equipment blew away.

"Ratchet, are you almost finished up there?"

"Almost gove'na, 'nother five minutes."

"All right then, but lets get inside before it gets worse out here."

Over on the runway he could see Slipstream and Dogfight working with a team of field technicians to get the interceptors into the hangers. Hopefully their 'eye-in-the-sky' would have enough fuel to finish his mission, as it didn't look like he'd be landing anywhere around here soon. Perhaps he should call in a stratotanker just in case.

-

_Hamlet of Skaw - Unst Island, Shetland  
_  
Less than two dozen people call Skaw home, and at this hour of the morning, not one of them was on the beach to observe a woman, clad in a black wetsuit. In less than a minute after her arrival, her wetsuit, and air-tanks were bagged and buried in the sand underneath a rotting boat that no one had looked at for years. Her name was Della Eden_._

-  
_  
3 kilometers west of Shetland - 300 meters underwater  
_  
Glancing over his shoulder, Baracuda confirmed that Narwhal, captain of the Desaix, was still pacing the deck, the storm that was growing off the north end of Shetland was somewhat worrisome, but hopefully wouldn't disturb their underwater mission.

"Anything on the com Sonar?"

"Nothing sir."

Barracuda tapped the first intercom switch, "Shark, everything prepped up front?"

The reply from the chief torpedo technician took a moment, "Locked, loaded and ready to launch sir."

Second intercom switch, "Dolphin, anything in the area?"

"Nothing on the scopes," came the reply from Navigation.

Third intercom switch, "Beaver, ready to go?"

A pause, "Beaver's head is buried in our weapons locker," Mariner replied, "but we're ready to go once Frogman gets a new air-tank."

"Good."

Fourth intercom switch, "Backfire?"

"All lights are green," was the report from the engine room.

"All sections are go sir," Barracuda reported over his shoulder.

The captain stopped his pacing briefly, "good. Helm," he turned to address Salty Dog, "full ahead, make for Castle Destro."

-

_Scalloway Barbers Shop_

Michelion Paolino, also known as Agent Faces leaned back in the chair while the barber trimmed his hair. He hadn't really appreciated the man's inquiries regarding his presence here, apparently he knew all the locals and wasn't used to tourists stopping by his shop, and Faces had had to do some mental gymnastics to get around that. At first he'd been going to say he was a new hire at Castle Destro, just to the north, but he had no idea whether or not any of the castle's staff came down here or not, or whether this barber was in Destro's employ in some way or another. He'd decided to say he was a nature photographer and the barber, after a few strange looks had acquiesced and begun cutting.

From where he sat, he could see Munitia still pacing up and down the wharf front, clearly waiting for Wild Weasel arrive. He allowed the tension between his shoulder blades to ease and willed himself to wait.

-

_Highway between Lurwick and Scalloway _

Sneak Peak couldn't believe his luck, ahead of him on the highway was a broken down taxi with a driver standing over the smoking engine, being screamed at by a very irate Wild Weasel. Pulling over on the side of the highway, Sneak Peak affected a Canadian accent and stepped out to offer assistance to the driver.

"Hello there, you guys look like you need some help, eh?"

Wild Weasel stopped yelling for an instant, "I need to be in Scalloway in ten minutes. I'll pay you to borrow your car."

"Hey, I'm headed that way!" Sneak Peak affected a chearful disposition, "Hop on in and I'll get you there quickly, eh?"

He climbed back into the Landrover, listening to the taxi driver arguing with Wild Weasel about the fee, but ignored it. He wished he could call ahead to Faces, but he didn't have enough time before Wild Weasel got in. He couldn't risk it. Thankfully all his gear was hidden in the trunk and it didn't look like Wild Weasel was carrying any baggage with him. Another lucky break it seemed.

-

_Castle Destro - Destro's Chambers_

Baroness DeCobray stood shaking in the ensuite bathroom. She couldn't believe what she'd just let herself do with the amazon witch laying in the bed in the room. Cobra commander had said to do whatever was necessary to ensure Destro's loyalty, and she'd been prepared for that, but she had fully expected him to be male, and she hadn't expected to enjoy it. She was going to need a lot of time to think over what had just happened, and figure out where she should.

"I need to take a shower," she called through the door.

"Of course," came the sultry voice from the other side of the door, "take as long as you need, I need to check on the servants anyway."

-

_Castle Destro - Main Kitchen_

"Quiet you fools," hissed Voltar to the castle's new arrivals, "do you want the master to hear you? If your going to take over from that woman, your going to need to be somewhat more subtle."

Blackout withdrew his head around the corner. He wasn't entirely sure what he was witnessing, but it seemed like some of the former Destro's illegitimate children were not thrilled with the new Destro. If what he'd heard was correct, it was an African woman who'd been adopted and raised in the castle, quite the contrary of what they'd been expecting coming into this mission. Very interesting, he smirked, wondering just what a shock the Baroness had had upon her meeting with Destro.

He allowed himself another look around the corner, trying to identify the plotters. In the center of the room stood Voltar, the long-time director of the Iron Grenedier's intelligence division, apparently the inside man. Surrounding him were three individuals, only two of whom Blackout recognized immediately, Darklon and Squash-head Harry. Darklon lived in the Sudan and held an iron grip on the government there. Squash-head Harry was a small time Mediterranean terrorist. The third was half-Caucasian and half-Asian, and it took a minute for Blackout to identify him as industrialist Jun Ling. Interesting, he had most definitely not been in the briefing notes as an offspring of the late Destro. It seemed wherever he had stayed, he left at least one illigitimate offspring, usually one that eventually ended up running some illegal activity. Though it had never been proved, the Baroness's intelligence division had raised strong suspicions that the late Destro had covertly funded each of their activities to spread his influence, and eventually expand the Iron Grenedier's illegal influence. So men like Darklon and Squash-head Harry were fairly common. Jun Ling though, now that was someone to keep an eye on. Cobra Commander would be most interested in this development, his industrial power in the east would be a good counterpoint for Tomax and Xamot's business interests in Europe. Darklon, Harry and Ling would all be far more easily coerced, even if they could work together, than the new Destro was proving to be. It would be even easier if one or more was eliminated in the takeover. Something Blackout would be more than happy to assist with.

He decided for the time being to leave the plotters to their work, and retraced his step out the window and headed for the car to pick up a few nasty surprises. The timing of his departure prevented him from learning about what the three were plotting, but soon he knew the precise details would be irrelevant.

-

_The Cove - Formerly RAF Saxa Vode - Unst Island, North Shetland_

"Well Big-Byte, what's the verdict on the storm?" asked Courage stepping into the command center.

"Its going to hit the coast in about fifteen minutes sir, and Shetland will be covered with it in less than thirty minutes. Its big, and its moving fast."

"Quickly," corrected Courage, "its moving _quickly_. And stop rolling your eyes Bloodhound."

"So, Faces and Peak?"

"So long as they keep relatively close to Munitia and Weasel they'll be able to complete their mission without any problems. The storm might even help them keep under cover. There is something strange sir."

"What?"

"Pig Iron was out on the motor launch earlier, and he found an abandoned motor boat off Skaw, locked in place with three anchors."

"That's highly unusual. I assume you brought it in."

"We tried, but when he got within 20 feet to hook up a towline, the thing blew up."

"Is he alright?"

"Fine sir, but he couldn't pick anything up of use from it. Total incineration. We're pretty sure it was loaded with Napalm."

"A bit too obvious for Cobra," Courage reflected, "I wonder what, or rather who, we're dealing with."

-__

Wind Dog Cafe - Gutcher Ferry Terminal - Yell Island, North Shetland

Dela Eden had made the crossing on the ferry to her first target. Tied up in the trunk of her stolen Mazda was the corpse of the first unlucky farmer she'd come across this morning. Sitting across from here at the table were two individuals she'd never seen before, fellow members of the Red Shadows who were stationed on Shetland. They would assist her, and then they would be eliminated. No one had briefed them on the second part yet.

-

_Castle Destro - Main Kitchen_

"So, we're all agreed then," smiled Voltar, "any last questions."

"None," replied Darklon. While there had originally been some conflict between him and Jun Ling as to who would take the mask once the current Destro was in the ground, somehow it seemed the matter had been solved. Voltar knew not how, but he strongly suspected that Darklon's secret service had had a hand in it.

"Very well then," Voltar pushed the door open and stepped aside.

The three plotters advanced out the door, their attention focused on the stairs leading to the Laird's chambers. Harry glanced over at Ling, they both knew they were no match for the laird and most of their dirty work was done by lackeys, and they fell back to allow Darklon to take the point.

An imperious voice rang out behind them, "I believe you were looking for me?"

The three whirled in unison, Harry's wildly swinging prosthetic arm caught Voltar, who had been following the three plotters, across the throat knocking him to the floor in a corner beside the stairs. Striding towards them was Laird Destro in full battle armor, and flowing cape. The trademark gold mask hung at the uniform's belt rather than sitting on its owner's head, a sign of contempt for those foolish enough to fight.

Darklon raised a pistol to fire, but he was too slow. Destro's sword flashed out of its scabbard faster than the eye could follow, and cleaved the barrel, and three of Darklon's fingers in the process. A sharp kick with a boot heal between the legs and Darklon was on the floor, gasping for breath.

"Stay down, I have use for you," came the order as the sword clanged against Harry's prosthetic. At first it seemed to have no effect, but it had severed the control mechanism and rendered the weapon held useless, "you on the other hand..."

Blood sprayed as Harry's head was removed from his shoulder.

The flat of the sword knocked the rifle from Ling's numb hands, and the point rested at his throat as he backed against the wall.

The Laird of the castle addressed the two survivors, "you came to my home to kill me, and you failed. You shall serve me or you shall die."

Ling simply nodded, terror in his eyes, he was a plotter, not a fighter, and he was smart enough to realize that now that he had been exposed that his plans could never succeed. Darklon hesitated a moment before grunting an agreement.

"I'm getting too old for this Laird," Voltar muttered picking himself up out of the corner.

"You have done well Voltar, the deception worked, even on my own half-brothers." A smile, "you two may consider this a hostile takeover of your business interests."

Around the corner from the kitchen, Blackout watched the entire event open mouthed. He quickly decided that he and DeCobray were distinctly over matched here, and Cobra Commander needed to be informed of the days events immediately. He had to find a way to get the Baroness out of here quick...

The thought was cut off as a frying pan crashed across the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. The noise brought Destro.

"Ah, Professor Pain. Good work, strap him into your mind scanner and see if you can make him forget what he's seen today shall you?"

"Yes my lord."

-

_Scalloway _

Agent Faces felt his jaw come loose, he was almost unable to believe his eyes, but twenty feet away, surreptitiously climbing out of Sneak Peak's Landrover, was Wild Weasel. That most definitely was not supposed to happen. The Landrover pulled off Main Street and down Gibblestone Road, doubtless moving towards their designated rendezvous point. What worried him was that Weasel probably well knew that the Joes were in the area, and probably a lot more if Peak was a double agent. The only reason he'd seen the drop off was because he'd had to waste twenty minutes showing the barber his landscape pictures to keep his cover, making him late. Thankfully Munitia and Wild Weasel were moving off towards Westshore hill.

Hopefully that would give him time to deal with Peak, possibly permanently.

-  
_  
1 kilometer south of Castle Destro - 20 meters underwater_

Kracken gestured at the four Eels under his command, pointing them towards a small cleft in the rock beside the main gate to the underwater submarine hanger of Castle Destro. A bit of fake seaweed would hide them from detection until they completed their mission.

-

_Castle Destro - Basement Laboratory 23B_

"Make sure those straps are tight," Professor Pain instructed the two Nullifiers. Between them, tied into the harness of the mind scanner, was the unconscious body of Blackout. Professor Pain had once worked with Cobra scientist Dr. Venom to develop the brain-wave scanner used by the terrorist organization, but realizing he could make more money in private practice he had faked his own death and offered his services to MARS. He had since made some improvements to the machine. Rather than just being able to read a subject's mind, it could now remove and add memories as needed to avoid, inconveniences, to the owner.

Blackout was about to discover that he had had a completely different tour of Castle Destro.

-  
_  
7 kilometers southwest of Castle Destro - 200 meters underwater_

"All stop."

Wake nodded, and eased the throttles to zero at Narwhal's orders. Barracuda felt the slight vibration in the floor caused by the massive propellers slowly abate as the Desaix came to a stop. Somewhere in the forward dive hold, Beaver and his team would be preparing to head out for their mission. He, Mariner, and Frogman had to dive using one of the sub's SHARCs and then approach the entrance to Destro's underwater harbor. There, they were to plant an observation device.

Third intercom switch, "Beaver, is your team ready?"

"Yes sir."

Barracuda nodded to Bulkhead, sitting two chairs to the left, "open bay doors."

"Opening bay doors."

"Cleared to launch," ordered Narwhal.

"Beaver," Barracuda relayed, "you are cleared to launch."

"Yes sir."

-

_Scalloway - East Side_

It was quite unlike the perfectionist Agent Faces to be late, Sneak Peak reflected, leaning back in his seat, but the meeting spot just around the corner from New Road, hidden from the playing field by a stand of trees. He had been certain he'd seen Wild Weasel meet with Munitia, so Faces had discovered something, or he was already tailing them, but either way he should have checked in over the radio by now. It seemed something was...oh, well maybe not. Faces was just making his way through the trees towards the Landrover, it looked like he'd had a haircut. Sneak Peak paused.

Faces. Got a haircut. While on a mission. Nope, that still wasn't making sense. There had to be a story there, he reflected, unlocking the side door.

"About time you got here," he said quietly as Faces got in, "I was beginning to - hey, what the hell?" The sudden outburst was in response to the pistol that was now digging sharply into his side.

"You've got about thirty seconds to explain why there was a Cobra agent in this vehicle, or you'll be going home in a box," hissed Faces as he pulled the door closed with his other hand.

"Geez man, you ever heard of just asking?"

The pistol dug a little deaper.

"All right, keep your pants on. He left the airport in a cab, and I put that through to headquarters on the radio. Then I went to Lurwick and waited for orders at, well you know the place. They told me to go to Scalloway, and said to meet you here and watch Munitia and Weasel. I didn't know you were even on the island until then, let alone that Munitia was also. As I was coming through I saw Wild Weasel's taxi had broken down and I offered him a ride. Keep your friends close and your enmies closer right? I also planted a homing device on his coat when he wasn't paying attention."

Faces stared at Peak, his face unreadable, for several moments before he spoke, "that's such a dumb excuse there's no way you could have made that up." The pistol retracted from Sneak Peak's side and disappeared beneath a light jacket.

"You know your paranoid right?"

"Its the only way I stay alive."

-

_Scalloway - West Side_

Wild Weasel and Munitia made their way down Ladysmith Road, stopping when they reached the last house at the very end of the lane. Weasel rapped sharply on the door, which opened only a crack.

"Password?"

"Hail the commander."

"Enter."

"Thank you Firefly."

-

_Scalloway - Town Center_

General Mayhem leaned back against the mast of the sailing ship, and lowered the binoculars. He'd lost track of the two Cobra agents when they'd taken the curve in Ladysmith Road. But if he had to guess, somewhere along that street was a Cobra safehouse. Most interesting. Laird Destro would be displeased that it hadn't been found before.

He turned to the three Undertow behind him. "You," he indicated one, "call the castle for a few reinforcements, we have to perform an extermination."

-

_Lurwick_

Dela Eden walked into the coffee shop, flanked by her two fellow Red Shadows. Only this morning, a G.I. Joe agent had been spotted entering and leaving.

"May I help you?" asked the waitress coming around the counter.

"Yes, you can die."

The waitress's eyes widened, her hand slipping beneath her apron. But Eden was far too quick, a bullet entered the MI6 agent's brain before she had a chance to draw her own weapon. The cook was dispatched with three shots to the chest quickly afterwards.

"Move the bodies," ordered Eden, "we don't want to draw attention to ourselves. Yet."

-

_Castle Destro - Basement Laboratory 23B_

"Well," gloated Professor Pain, "he was remarkably easy to break."

In less than an hour, the mind scanner had torn all the information from Blackout's experience at the castle from his mind. He hadn't even resisted, and it had taken Pain some time to figure out why, but in the end he had realized that Blackout's reports from his activities were routinely taken using Dr. Venom's brain scanner, rather than a more traditional method. So removing those inconvenient memories had been a simple matter, though replacing them had been a bit more difficult, but the process was now complete.

-

_Castle Destro_

DeCobray followed her host down the stairs and into an opulently appointed office. The walls were covered with bookshelves sagging under the weight of books resting on them. Many of them looked to be hundreds of years old, while others appeared to be new. While the other woman's back was turned she tried to take in a few of the titles, and found that they ranged from original copies of Shakespeare, to translations of Plato to modern treatises on warfare. Interesting collection she reflected as she sat in a chair across the desk from where the lady Destro was. On close inspection the desk, opulent though it was, was well worn from years of use. The finery of the castle was definitely old, and past its prime.

But distractions aside, DeCobray had no further time to waste, "as you have probably realized, I am here to discuss an alliance between Cobra and your Iron Grenadiers."

"Yes, I believe your organization spoke about that with my father on several occasions. I'm afraid the answer is still no."

"I assure you, the arrangement would be mutually beneficial for both of our organizations."

"I'm sure it would be, but you see, we have no interest in further expansion. As you may have guessed from the furnishings around here, my father's philandering ways left the Castle accounts rather depleted."

"Our organization would be willing to make certain, monetary concessions, in the case of your allegiance."

"I am afraid that my family," she drew herself up in indignation, "does not accept charity!"

As DeCobray attempted to force down her temper, a butler walked in, the same one missing an eye, and whispered in the ear of the Laird. She nodded.  
_  
_"Please excuse me my dear, it appears that there is a servant who needs...discipline. I shall return shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Decobray sat there speechless. She had been thoroughly manipulated by this woman and wasted an entire day. And so, why did she feel like she had enjoyed herself.

-  
_  
1 kilometer south of Castle Destro - 20 meters underwater_

"In position," beaver radioed back to the Desaix.

Six kilometer's away, the forward torpedo tubes opened, and a single fish shot out running hot. It crossed the distance between the two positions in less than two minutes, and as it approached, Frogman pressed a button on a remote. The propeller on the rear of the torpedo casing abruptly changed direction, slowing and soon stopping all forward momentum. The torpedo sank to the ocean floor just shy of a kilometre from the bay doors to the underwater hanger of Castle Destro.

Mariner made his way down and began undoing the casing, something not possible with normal torpedoes. Frogman turned his back to the hanger doors, and scrawled a brief message on his wax tablet, _are the snakes watching?_

Beaver nodded once, and the message was erased. This was exactly what they wanted, Destro would think it was the cobra's planting an observation device outside the hanger, and the movement of his Iron Grenadiers when he inevitably sent the to hunt down Cobra for retribution would be more easily tracked than Cobra itself. Like a bloodhound in a foxhunt, the Iron Grenadiers would lead the real hunters to their target

Over by the bay doors, Kracken and his four Eels watched the agents assemble the device. Whoever they were, they hadn't even turned towards their hiding place, so they clearly didn't know they were here. And so far, it looked like the Iron Grenedier's didn't either. That was good.

It took the agents, Cobra Command suspected it was MI6 since all their contact with whatever group was hunting them had thus far been in the British Isles or western Europe, less than a minute to open the casing, and another three to set up the antenna, sonar dishes and the like that protruded from the top. Kracken himself had no idea what they were, but two of the Eels were engineers, and they had to job of hijacking the signal from whatever it was. That was far beyond him.

-

_Castle Destro -Underwater Hanger_

Darklon followed Destro meekly into the hanger. It lay underground, almost a half kilometer south of Castle Destro, attached by a long, reinforced tunnel. Inside lay four military sized submarines, and based on the number of cross-corridors he'd seen underground, there were more than enough crew to fill all of them, and then some. This new Destro, far from being the flamboyant weakling that Voltar had lead him to believe was in the process of expanding the hanger, and there was more military grade hardware on display than at a Korean arms bazaar.

"Darklon, you assemble a team, and remove those Cobra agents when they're finished."

"But I don..." Darklon paused at the iron stare. "Sorry, but SIR I don't know anything about this operation."

"Really? Not an hour ago you were quite keen to take it over. Have you now changed your mind?"

Darklon could only sputter in response.

"Remember something Darklon, _I_ am in charge here, and you, like every other member of my empire, will take orders and follow them to the letter is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Captain, Fifth Marine Regiment, Report!"

Darklon winced because the order had been deliberately hollered in his ear, but still observed a helmeted head appear from the top of one of the submarines, "SIR!"

"Assemble a squad of your best men, there's five Cobra operatives outside the hanger, kill them. Leave the Joes."

"Yes sir!"

Destro returned to glaring at Darklon, "THAT is the kind of loyalty I expect and demand. If you cannot or will not give it, I WILL execute you. Is that clear?"

"Yes SIR!" Darklon wasn't dumb enough to argue when surrounded by a small army of Grenadiers, but one day Destro would learn.__

-

_Lurwick_

Dela Eden turned as the door to the recently commandeered coffee shop opened, "I'm sorry we're closed due to...Baron Ironblood!" She was genuinely shocked to see the leader of the Red Shadows standing before her. "Sir, its an honor, but-"

He raised a hand to cut her off, "it appears that both G.I. Joe and Cobra have interests in Shetland. This operation is now more crucial than ever. I am here to take charge."

-

_Scalloway_

Sneak Peak pulled the Landrover into an abandoned gun battery to the west of the city. The concrete shed had been built during World War II as part off the defence of Britain. As far as he knew, it had never been used, but it would provide a convenient and sheltered base of operations while they watched their quarry. The tracker he'd attached to Wild Weasel's coat was still functioning and showed him moving around the house on Ladysmith Road.

The storm wasn't helping matters, and would probably keep the Cobra agents inside for a few more hours, rain now pelted the ground outside their small shelter.

"So, we wait?" asked Faces.

"Well, we could try to storm the house, but I'd rather find out what they're doing here. I am going to stretch my legs though."

Behind him, Peak could hear faces climb out his door as well. There wasn't much room in the old battery, in fact the roof was only an inch or so above Peak's head, but that was enough.

"You know," he commented, trying to make conversation, "the bay's actually rather pretty down the- erk!"

"Peak!" Faces shouted, his head snapping around, seeing the blood spray from the bullet that had just passed through Peak's shoulder. Two more shattered the rear windshield of the Landrover. Both joes dived for cover behind the vehicle. In front of them they could see a vehicle stopped on the road around a hundred meters away. A man and a woman were firing from the passenger's side, while another man was in the driver's seat.

Faces returned fire, his first two shots ringing harmlessly off the frame of the other car, but his third hit the woman somewhere as she stopped firing. On the other side of the car, Peak was a bit more careful, he paused, then squeezed off three shots in succession.

His aim was good, the bullets flew through the air, passing through the rain fast enough to avoid a significant drop, but the downward pressure of a few errant drops forced them down slightly and rather than taking their target in the side of the temple as intended, all three tore through his lower jaw, tearing his tongue apart, and shattering his mandible.

Wild Weasel screamed in agony, and Firefly gunned the engine. Not out of any concern for the two Cobra agents, but because a police car with sirens blaring with approaching.

Let those two deal with the local authority, he thought, whoever they are.

Back in the bunker Sneak Peak looked over at Agent Faces, "I don't suppose you know the authority codes for the local police do you?"

"Dublin, yes. London, yes, Lurwick even, yes. Scalloway? nope."

"Damn. I was afraid of that."

-__

7 kilometers southwest of Castle Destro - 200 meters underwater  
  
"Beaver and his team are back on board and bay doors sir," Barracuda reported, releasing the intercom switch.

"Good." Narwhal said absently, "lets get underway before someone at The Cove realizes we're not where we're supposed to be.

"It might be a bit too late for that sir," Sonar said hesitantly, "I just pulled something off our satellite com. It seems that Courage is trying to hail us since we didn't report as scheduled when we crossed into international waters."

Barracuda hissed under his breath, he should have remembered even if Narwhal hadn't. Stupid.

"Its fine," Narwhal replied, his mind still clearly elsewhere, "tell them there was trouble of some sort with the ballast system and we stayed close to the coast to fix it."

"Very good sir."

Barracuda breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever special mission Beaver and his team had just completed, it was done and they could relax.

-

_40,000 Feet Overhead_

"The fish is online sir," Ghostrider hailed The Pit, breaking radio silence for the first time in nearly a day.

"Message received. Return to base."

"Roger. Over and out."

Ghostrider would have liked to have heard how the Baroness's 'date with Destro,' as he'd come to think of it, had finished, but he had more than enough already recorded to make for some interesting readings back at base.

-

_Castle Destro  
_  
"Thank you for you, er, hospitality during my stay," DeCobray said, formally shaking Destro's hand.

"Of course my dear," rang the response. Sometime between when she had left their lunch abruptly to discipline the servant and when she had returned, she had changed into another extravagant gown. This Destro seemed to only spend money like water, her allegiance or lack there of, to Cobra was certainly no loss. In fact, her incompetence might make it easier to take over the MARS operations outright. A suggestion she fully intended to make when she returned to Cobra Commander with her report. "I hope you'll be back to visit often?"

"I'm afraid much of my time is taken elsewhere, but you can count on it." In her mind, Decobray wasn't sure whether that was the truth, a lie, or a half-truth. She'd need a lot of time to figure it out.

The women said their goodbyes and DeCobray climbed into the car with Blackout and drove off. Overhead the sky was darkening and the first scattered drops of rain kissed the castle's stone walls. As soon as the car was out of site, a voice came from the darkened doorway.

"Everything went as planned?"

"Of course my Laird," replied the woman turning, her shoulders sagging in subservience.

A tall man, dressed in black, with a red cape thrown over one shoulder stepped out, he looked exactly like the twenty-six portraits hanging in the front hall. "She can be turned to our service?"

"Yes Laird. Her loyalty to Cobra is strong, but not that strong. You will break her, and bring her to MARS. And in time, to your bed."

"You have done well," he replied, his gloved hand reaching up to stroke her chin. The woman shuddered, but did not resist.

"Remember your place. You serve me, no matter what the world outside this castle believes."

"Yes my Laird, I will remember."

"Good. Come Armada, we have much work to do," declared the real Lord Alexander Destro McCullen XVII.

Destro's story is now done, but there is more going on on this island than you would believe. CONTINUED IN: **Intrigue in Shetland**


	23. 07 26 2033 Mercer

**01/26/2034 - Mercer**

_The Bronx, New York - Outside_

Inspector James Gordon ducked back behind the wall of the warehouse as another burst of sub-machine gun fire peppered the brickwork. Right about now he'd have given anything to be his fictional namesake and flip on the bat signal, but sadly stuff like that never happened in real life. Instead, half a dozen members of the NYPD's SWAT team were lying dead in this back end of the Bronx, trying to stave off a gunfight between a bunch of weird dudes in reflective head gear and full combat tack, and another, seemingly identical man. What precisely was it about a full moon that brought out all the nutcases in this city?

He hoped that the spotters could get a bead on these guys sometime soon, he wasn't anxious to have to drag this out any longer than he had to. As it was, the commissioner had informed him he was seriously debating calling in the military to deal with these guys if they weren't in custody within five hours. That was, Gordon checked his watch, just over four hours ago. He shook his head and sighed, wondering if there was any point doing any more than bottling these guys up until someone with more firepower showed up. These lunatics seemed quite content to have barricaded themselves into two buildings on the other side of the street, and were hemmed in on all sides by police.

Corporal Henshaw had discovered that there was a weakness in their armor between the top edge of their vests, and bottom rim of their visors. Sharpshooters would be able to pick them off if they came out into the open, but it would be tricky for the rest of his men, as that small seam was only visible head-on, meaning they'd be exposed to fire themselves. Another sigh and a shake of his head. Ah well, what would be would be. Though he would certainly not turn down reinforcements if he could get them.

-

_The Bronx, New York - Inside South Building_

The man known as Sergent Fang strode among his men. They represented what was left of Death's Head Squadron, one of the elite regiments under within Major Bludd's Viper Corps. Or at least it had been until that blasted Corporal had convinced half a dozen of his best men to return to the corrupt arms of the western regimes. Well, Corporal Stratton was the last one standing, and though it had cost Fang two thirds of his command, be intended to kill him too. No defections, no failures. The NYPD couldn't stop them leaving Stratton the only thing standing between them and extraction. Fang shook his head, his best man. He did wish he'd been allowed to bring a squad of Alley Vipers with him, but the Commander himself had ordered this mission to be kept quiet and use minimal resources. Almost Three years after Black Thursday, the Cobra Organization was becoming restless to show itself, just like a snake coiled to strike. Fang almost burst out laughing at the bad analogy, but held himself in check. It wouldn't do to unnerve the men now. Something was coming, everyone could feel it, and there was speculation it would be on the anniversary of Black Thursday itself. Fang found that utterly melodramatic, but if that was what pleased the commander, so be it; the constant snake motif was equally esoteric, and no one complained about that.

One of the men gestured him over to a side window facing the building where Stratton was laid up. Fang stood up and walked over, keeping the outside wall between himself and the police on the street. Overall, he wasn't worried about them, but a single lucky shot by one of the snipers that had recently appeared on the roofs surrounding their bolt hole could be very inconvenient. Two Strato-vipers were holding transport jets in high orbit, and Fang would have given anything for a bit of air support, but again, they had strict orders not to intervene until it was time for extraction.

He reached the man, Corporal Huaso, who silently pointed to the third window on the fourth floor. Fang slid his binocular lenses off the top of his helmet, allowing the goggles to magnetically adhere to his polarized faceplate before tapping a button on the side of the lenses to increase the magnification. For an instant his vision of the far building blurred as the lenses in the faceplate and the goggles adjusted to form a clear image. Fang shifted his attention to the digital readouts to either side of his viewing window noting that Private Kertan had died in the last few minutes from her injuries. Unfortunate, finding a sharpshooter not drafted for the Night-Vipers, or Ghost's Sniper Company was quite difficult. Another problem he would have to overcome when he got back.

The magnification of the far building allowed him to spot a flash of movement in the far window. A bit of digital image cleanup showed the reflection to be from a viper helmet. Unfortunately, the helmet was not attached to the rest of the body armor, meaning that Stratton had either abandoned it or -

The worst fear he had been about to voice came true as a spray of bullets impacted on Huaso's chest plate. Fang made it back behind cover, but Huaso wasn't as lucky, with at least three of the bullets tearing through the cartilage of his throat. Quickly rewinding a recording of the last few seconds, Fang spotted Stratton three windows right of the one where they'd spotted the helmet. Returning fire now would be pointless though, Stratton had done the damage, and no doubt moved on by now.

Gnashing his teeth Fang bent over to drag Huaso's body away from the window to allow another of his men to take up station. Dead troops or not, the mission must be finished.

-

_Armored Personal Carrier - Brooklyn Bridge  
_  
"I still don't understand why we're supposed to take one of these nut-jobs alive," Barricade grumbled.

"Because that's what General Colton ordered," Shockwave snapped. He was getting tired of the incessant grumbling. He was just as upset with these people as anyone else, but orders were orders, and if Colton wanted this man alive, there had to be a good reason, even if the team wasn't let in on it. It wasn't his job to tell everyone why they were performing a mission, just to make sure they got it done right and well, and if he could tell them afterwards, all the better.

Cannonball's head poked around from the driver's chair, "Almost there guys, he hollered, you'll be bashing snake skin in no time."

In spite of himself, Shockwave smiled along with the rest of the team. Cannonball's exuberant nature was infectious, and was one of the main reasons Shockwave had seconded him away from his work on testing out the RHINO to take them into New York. Urban combat in a populated western city was the last thing that any of the team had expected to have to deal with before the terrorist organization even went public. A quick glance at his second command confirmed that she had the same misgivings; if New York was the first location for hostilities to break out, how vulnerable were other American and European cities?

As if reading his mind Mayday shrugged, "not much we can do but stop it Jason. Relax. We're just killing a few terrorists."

Very pretty girl, very dark sense of humor, Shockwave reflected, listening to her laugh. Most of the team seemed to have been cheered up by the remark. Except for Bombardier. He and Med Alert had been attached to the unit for this operation, and while Medi seemed like a nice enough guy, Bombardier was almost as off-putting as the Steel Brigade Commander. Shockwave had gone to pull his file before the mission and hadn't had access to any of it. He'd gone up the chain first to Grid Iron and then Lifeline to see if they could pull something from it; nothing. He had to admit he was a bit disturbed that a Captain and a Colonel didn't have access to the file. Just who was this guy?

Glimpsing flashing lights ahead, Shockwave shook the thought from his head and refocused on the mission ahead. Colton had ordered him to pick up some group of rogue terrorists, and Lifeline had agreed that the mission was critical after reviewing the brief. That was one thing about Lifeline that most of the mission commanders were coming to appreciate, he wasn't afraid to talk to them about a mission off the record. While most of the command staff had a habit of being evasive, Lifeline and Courage didn't seem to feel inhibited by the official restrictions of need-to-know. Well, at least to some degree, Lifeline hadn't explained why he had suddenly been very eager to retrieve the squad after seeing the original radio intercept.

Ah well, mission time.

"Widescope, Barricade, Effects. You three are going in the front of the south building. Mayday will take Stone and Long Arm around the back. Pincer them and take them out. Get some prisoners if you can. Bullet-proof, and Bombardier, your with me, we're extracting the defectors if that's really what they are. Bullhorn, you'll hook up with Mace, and see if you can talk both teams down while we get set up. Med Alert, Dial Tone, you guys stay back with the APC and Cannonball. Keep us updated, and we'll let you know if we need medical." A quick glance up and down the benches showed that the team understood, "lets go then."

The APC rolled to a stop around the corner and out of sight of the main building, and the team hustled out, moving to their pre-arranged positions. Waving Bombardier and Bullet-proof onwards, Shockwave detoured towards the police line. Mace glided into position beside him, though Shockwave couldn't have said where the man came from. A man wearing an inspector's badge stepped back from the line, two bullet holes stitched the outer edge of his trench coat, but apparently had left him untouched. The image left Shockwave slightly off balance, unsure whether to laugh that there was still an inspector who wore a trench coat, or to respect the man for not standing back in a firefight. Settling on the latter, Shockwave presented clearance papers, faxed from the mayor's office to the APC only minutes before.

The situation was still sticky. The joe's still hadn't gone public and Colton insisted they would not until they finally had access to a major target, and so authorizations that would be respected by local police and military forces were still a bit tricky to get. Thankfully, these had come through without an issue.

Still, the inspector's eyebrow went up upon reading the document, "international. Military. Strike. Force."

"Good. Captain. Kirk. Impression." Replied Shockwave.

The corners of the inspector's mouth were twitching, trying to suppress a grin, "I see. Well, you guys look like you know what your doing. I'll let you do the heavy lifting. Where do you want my men?"

"As they are. Mace and Bullhorn will let you know if they need to change anything."

Even as he turned to leave, Shockwave could feel the inspector's eyes appraising his kit. Not that he could really blame the man, it probably wasn't every day that he got approached by an Urban Combat Officer covered in body armor and packing half a dozen exposed firearms. Then again, it probably wasn't every day he was dealing with armed terrorists either. You'd think he'd be used it it by now.

-

_Terrordrome 193_

Cobra Commander paced up and down the length of the room. He was clearly frustrated with Death's Head. Behind his face-mask the man known to G.I. Joe as Chuckles smiled. This was exactly the reaction he'd hoped to attain when he'd made the arrangements with Stratton to defect away from Cobra and take intel to the joes. It was the only way he could think of to get the information to G.I. Joe. He didn't want to endanger his regular drops with that volume of material, and needed to find a scapegoat to pin it on. Had the disgruntled viper not presented himself as a viable carrier for the information, Chuckles would have been in quite a bind. He didn't intend to give up his position just yet. There were still many things he wanted to accomplish under the banner of Cobra before he turned in the Commander for his crimes.

A delicate balance was required.

-

_The Bronx, New York - Behind South Building_

No movement was evident in the rear windows of the south building. Good, Mayday thought slipping a pair of mini-binoculars back into their pouch, hopefully we can get in quietly. Quickly gesturing Stone and Long Arm forward, the three dashed across the back alley, apparently undetected. Mayday had an instant for a quick sigh of relief before Long Arm went to work on the door. Under many circumstances, she'd have just had him blow the thing off its hinges, but they really didn't know what they were dealing with, either in terms of numbers of capabilities. A couple years ago Colton and Lifeline had managed to surprise a group of Alley Vipers at the UN Headquarters, but the Joes hadn't engaged any since then, so there was really no comparison. Cautious by nature, the lack of proper intel made her cringe, but there wasn't much to be done about it now, they were here, and had to get this over with.

Long Arm was still fiddling with the lock, and Stone was scanning the upstairs windows. Telling herself to relax, Mayday scanned both directions in the alley, seeing Shockwave and his team climbing through a broken window in the next building. She silently wished them luck and turned back as Long Arm emitted a contented grunt.

"We're in," he hissed, cautiously pushing the door open.

Stone stepped around the frame as the door opened, and plastered himself against the inside wall, rifle sweeping the room, "clear."

The three stepped in to an empty room. To their left sat the loading docks where a few dozen refrigeration units sat stacked waiting for the next day's trucks. The door to the front offices was directly ahead and closed, stairs and a freight elevator on the far left wall, and a small table next to a washroom on the far right, the later presumably a makeshift staff room. Stone's head turned towards the restroom a look of confusion passing across his face. An instant later, Mayday realized he'd picked up on a shuffling sound from the room. She dropped to a knee behind the partially open outer door, while Long Arm dropped down into the truck bay to set up converging fields of fire. Stone hurried quietly towards the door and took up position just as the toilet flushed.

A few tense seconds passed during with the the sounds of a running tap could be heard through the wooden door. Remarkably clean for a terrorist, Mayday reflected. The water shut off, Stone drew a knife from his belt and cocked his arm, the door opened and a man stepped out. His rifle was slung on one shoulder and his helmet was tucked under one arm while he was still pulling on his gloves. Stone didn't hesitate, his arm straightening quickly and slamming the knife point first through the man's trachea. Blood bubbled from the wound as the man's eye's went wide, his body slowly slackening. Reaching over with his free hand Stone grabbed the man's helmet before it dropped from his lifeless hands and slowly lowered the body to the floor.

A quick nod confirmed that the man was dead, and Mayday closed the door. Long Arm was already fiddling with the control pannel for the lift to jam it on the first floor. Mayday hurried over to the stairwell, listening for movement before opening the door. She could hear faint voices above, but not what floor they were on.

A strip of green paper slid under the door from the front office, the all clear signal from the second group. Stone tore off the end and shoved it back under the crack to confirm. The door lock rattled and Widescope stuck his head through. Mayday kept watch up the stairs, letting Stone sort things out. A few seconds later the men finished.

Stone jogged over, "Widescope and his team have to take the third floor through the front stairs because they don't open onto the second floor."

"Fine. We'll take the second and meet them on the fourth. You almost done there Long?"

"Almost."

-

_The Bronx, New York - Front of South Building_

Widescope's team had had a much easier time of things, Barricade had noticed a broken window concealed under the fire escape that the three had been able to crawl through. Apparently the only guard on the main floor had been in the back. A quick recon by Effects found the front staircase hidden behind the far wall, leading up to the third floor, bypassing the second.

A quick confirmation of orders with Stone and the three men took to the stairs, Widescope's riot shield leading the way. Behind him, Effects was fiddling with a smoke bomb, making Widescope slightly uncomfortable. Then again, the fact that a special effects technician had decided to join the military and was now one of their foremost demolitions experts was enough to make anyone somewhat nervous. He tried to shake off the discomfort as they approached the door to the third floor.

Barricade piled himself on the side of the door, slowly turning the handle, Effects lobbed the smoke grenade down the hall blanketing it in darkness while Widescope pulled his goggles down from his cap to try and get a visual through the smoke. On either side of him he could see the ends of rifles pointed down the hallway. Offices lined both sides, most of them with their doors opened, but they reached the far end of the floor without incident. A half dozen dead vipers could be found in different rooms. Some had been taken out by the police's wild fire through the windows, but a couple look like they'd died fighting each other, which seemed to substantiate the possibility of defectors.

At the far stairs they met Mayday and her team exiting the second floor, "anything?"

"About a dozen dead guys," she whispered, "you?"

"Half-dozen."

"Viper squad's what, about 30?" Barricade inquired.

"Thirty-six," replied Stone.

"Well, we've got one in the North building, about twenty dead here, and another four on the streets," Long Arm summarized. "That should leave what, about 10 on the top floor?"

"About that," Mayday confirmed, "average evening's work."

-

_The Bronx, New York - North Building_

Bombardier's laser rifle had made short work of the lock on the back door, and Shockwave and Bulletproof had been surprised not to have met any resistance on the first two floors. Like the building just to the south, this one consisted of a mere four floors, and was well over 150 years old. Most of the rooms behind the windows were peppered with bullet holes, but the fire from next door seemed to have dropped off. For that, Shockwave had to admit he was glad. A few stray shots would have immediately alerted the defector, if that's what he really was, to their presence.

Ostensibly the defector knew they were coming, but his response would be telling if he could be surprised, so the longer they could remain undetected the better. Second floor was empty.

Wondering if this whole thing was a ruse or a trap, he taped Bombardier on the shoulder and they headed back to where Bulletproof was keeping an eye on the single set of stairs. Shockwave took point as they ascended. The door to the third floor was propped open with an empty pistol magazine, clearly for a quick escape. Bulletproof made a move to take a position on the stairs, but Shockwave pulled lightly on his backpack to get him to follow down the hallway. The third door facing the building to the south was propped open similarly, and Shockwave pushed Bulletproof into the second doorway on the opposite side for covering fire while Bombardier pressed himself against the wall on the far side of the door.

-

_The Bronx, New York - Police Line  
_  
Inspector Gordon stood next to the man named Mace, watching another guy named..er... Bullwinkle or something like that. Though he had no idea who these guys were, he was thankful for their arrival. They were far more armed than any of his men, and probably more so than the national guard would have been. Nothing evidenced thsi more than the fact that the guy kneeling in front of him had assembled a sniper rifle out of a briefcase in twenty seconds flat. A small smirk twitched his lips as he considered what the men who'd gone into those buildings were carrying. Those bastards didn't stand a chance in his opinion.

"No shot," the man reported. He sounded quite disappointed.

"Ya want me to radio Mayday to save one for you?" Mace replied.

"Plenty more where they came from. I'll just kill some later."

Indecision froze Gordon for a moment before he gained the courage to ask, "excuse me, did you say more?"

"Yes Inspector, I did."

"Here?"

"No. And hopefully they never will be."

"Oh good."

"Or at least, not if we can help it."

"Who are these people, Mace was it?"

"Mace. That's Bullhorn. Dudes in orange, green and yellow over by the APC are Med Alert, Dial Tone and Cannonball respectively."

"Um, OK."

"That's what everyone says when they first hear all our code names. You get used to it," Mace smiled. "These guys work for the same group responsible for Black Thursday."

Gordon felt his stomach drop out of his feet.

"We're the force that's supposed to hunt them down. We think the guy in the North Building is a defector, and we're trying to retrieve him."

"To try him?"

"No, to get the information he's carrying so we can stymie their next attacks, and hopefully figure out who's running them."

"I'm sorry, but Black Thursday was almost three years ago now, and you still don't know who's running them?"

"No. And I'm afraid I can't explain why."

"I understand, only too well. Its the same in NYPD, need to know only."

"Don't worry inspector, I don't-"

Mace was cut off by a sharp crack from Bullhorn's rifle, "Got one."

Though Gordon was disturbed by what he just learned, he was slightly more worried by the relish in the man's voice at having killed someone.

-

_The Bronx, New York - North Building_

Shockwave burst into the room seconds after hearing the crack of Bullhorn's sniper rifle, dropping to one knee and scanning the east wall, his gaze stopping as it landed on a viper standing there without his mask. It took an effort of will not to twitch the trigger of his Heckler and Koch MP7, but the man stood there with his hands on his hips.

"Felix Stratton?"

"Yeah. You the Joes?"

"Yes. Come with us please."

"Not until I kill those bastards," Stratton replied pointing to the far building.

"Already taken care of," Shockwave replied. The words were barely out of his mouth when an eruption of gunfire sounded from the south building. In spite of himself he grinned behind his mask.

-

_The Bronx, New York - South Building_

Mayday's team had stormed into the fourth floor seconds after the gunshot from Bullhorn below. Widescope led the charge, his shield providing cover for the men and woman who poured through the door behind him. Two of the vipers were quick and managed to get off a few shots before being cut down by rifle fire from Effects and Long Arm. The other seven had tried to take cover and return fire, but Mayday had capped two of them in short order, while a grenade from Effects brought three of them down. Shots from Barricade and stone had taken out the other three.

Clearing the room had taken only seconds, and none of the team had been wounded. Mayday breathed a sigh of relief, and pulled a radio from her pocket, "north building secure. Butcher's bill was zip."

Shockwave's response came instantly, "found our man. Good work. See you at the street."

"Darn," said Barricade. "That's it? I was just getting used to stretching my legs."

-

_The Bronx, New York - APC_

Shockwave sat across from Stratton. He didn't really trust the man, but just flipping through the files he'd been handed showed him that the extraction had been well worth it. The two backpacks by his feet carried more information on the Cobra organization than the team had managed to glean in the last three years. He may not like Mercer, but he had to admit a grudging respect for someone who could evade capture by an organization so large and structured.

If he was actually trustworthy, he might have actually made a good Joe, he reflected, as Cannonball started the engine and started driving them back to the PIT.

-  
_  
The Bronx, New York - The Following Morning_

During the chaos of Mayday's assualt on the fourth floor, she hadn't thought to look towards the fire escape where Fang had been leaning, trying to get a better look at the sniper on the ground in front of the building. While his squad had laid down their lives, he'd dropped down to street level and killed a hobo hiding behind a trash bin. Quickly exchanging his armor for the man's clothing he'd been able to slip through the police line a few hours later with only cursory questioning.

He knew he'd failed the Commander, but he also knew that one day he'd get revenge on Stratton.

Code Name: Mercer  
File Name: Felix Stratton  
Birthplace: Spencer, West Virginia  
Rank: N/A  
Primary Military Specialty: CLASSIFIED  
Secondary Military Specialty: CLASSIFIED


	24. 01 13 2032 Games, Gears and Gadgets

**01/13/2032 - Games, Gears and Gadgets**  
_  
Mess Hall - The Rock_

Mayday stretched and rolled her shoulders, then addressed Lady Jaye and Cover Girl "well, I'll see you ladies later, I've got to find out if the tech heads have cracked that hard drive I brought in."

"I'm off the rest of the day," Lady Jaye replied, "I'll try and catch you in the motor pool later to help you fend off Clutch."

"I still say it would be easier to tase him," Cover Girl chuckled.

"Hey, at least you've got the ring on your finger LJ, the rest of us don't have that easy out."

The three said their goodbyes and Mayday wove her way through the tables, nearly colliding with an inattentive greenshirt, and paused near the door to redirect to a table a few away. Around it were seated Knockdown, Blaster, Avalanche and Dodger, Blocker and Dee-jay were circling like vultures. On the table was a Scrabble board onto which Knockdown was just playing the tiles for QUARTER with the Q on a double word score square.

"Haha! Thank you for that R Dodger! Thirty-two points for me. Beat that!"

Dodger groaned, and Avalanche scribbled the score down on a paper he was holding, "nice one knockdown, two more turns each and we're out of letters. I think you finally managed to beat Blocker."

"Finally," moaned Dee-Jay, "first time in history."

"Excuse me Blaster," Mayday interjected, "can I borrow you for a minute?"

"Sure, but can we just wait for Blocker to make his play?"

"Okay," Mayday shrugged.

"Thirty-two Points?" Blocker said. "That puts you forty-one ahead after that round, right?"

"Yep," smiled Knockdown smugly.

"Darn. Looks like I have to do this then."

On the left edge of the board, the word IONS sat with the S one space from the bottom corner. Blocker began playing tiles, moving upwards from the I. First came R then E, a pair of Ts, the first on a space for triple word score, an I, W and finally a Z on a double letter score space, resulting in ZWITTERION.

Dee-jay dropped into a chair beside the next table, Knockdown threw up his hands in frustration, and Avalanche exploded, "are you fucking kidding me? How do you DO that?"

Blocker grinned, "ten points for the Z , plus four for the W and one for each of the next nine makes twenty three, plus the double for the Z is thirty three, multiply by the double word score. Put me down for sixty-six."

"Son. Of. A. Bitch." Knockdown spluttered, "That's the highest word score I've ever seen."

"Still wish I'd managed a triple-double-triple," said Blocker mockingly.

"Oh shut up."

"Ok," Blaster said, leading Mayday away from the table, "what did you need me for?"

"You guys manage to crack that system I brought in last week?"

"Oh yes, IT just finished this morning when we tried that new code-cracker. I thought one of the guys would have gotten back to you. Ah well, come with me. I should probably be getting back to work anyway."

Mayday nodded, following him out of the dining hall and onto the concourse. When she'd first arrived, the base had been mostly empty space, but things were now growing exponentially. Three regiments of troopers now had permanent residence at the Rock, with another half dozen scattered around the globe at the team's other bases. While most of the soldiers were simple 'greenshirts' culled from militaries around the world, almost five hundred belonged to the First Brigade; those troopers had earned the honor of a personal code name, and to a man had some form of special forces training.

Now the concourses above and below her were populated with a small army of, Mayday paused realizing just how amusingly bad that comparison was, small army of Joes. She could see Shipwreck and Torpedo taking one of the lifts down to the basement, no doubt to try out some new dive equipment in the massive pool in the basement where the water that leaked through the walls of the base from the glacier above. Updraft and Dogfight were double-timing it in full flight gear along the concourse four levels up. An idle part of Mayday's mind wondered where the boys were off to in such a hurry, but wherever there was trouble, G.I. Joe would be there.

"Hey Blaster."

"Yes?"

"What exactly is a...er...whatever that word was that Blocker played?"

"Oh, a zwitterion. Its a molecule that has both a positive and negative charge at the same time. Like an amino acid at neutral pH."

"I see," replied Mayday, only slightly less confused than she had been moments earlier. Should have paid attention in those high school science courses, she thought.

Blaster took the stairs down three levels to the technologies floor, where the Information Technologies Center and Experimental Weapons Division had their offices. Also known colloquially to the rest of the Joes as 'Nerd Central'. Technically it actually was two floors, the first circled the entire concourse with one half being two stories in height for in house testing of things, while the second sat above the other half of the first, housing the offices a where the tech-heads spent most of their time. Conveniently, the testing zone was one floor beneath the infirmary and research floor, which seemed to be coming increasingly in handy with Kickstart's new pet project of the Hammer Mech. No one outside the Experimental Weapons Division really understood why or where a mech would be useful for anything, but nothing seemed to dissuade Kickstart's project.

"Oh, you'll get to meet the new guy."

"New guy?"

"Yeah, new engineering expert from some place in Rhode Island. He's a captain, I think. Not really sure what his job is specifically, but he's been attached to the EWD." He pronounced the acronym for Experimental Weapons Division _ewid_. "He goes by Gears."

A door stood open on their right, and Blaster gestured her through. Mayday found herself in the base's communication center. Datum and Breaker were hovering over Shareware's computer, and Maverick was talking with someone she didn't recognize, presumably Gears; he looked quite normal for one of the tech heads, though his black hair was a tad disheveled.

"My God Blaster," said Shareware in a mock horrified voice, "you brought a _girl_ in here?"

Mainframe looked up, and affected a nasal voice, "a girl? I've never seen one before. They look like that?"

Mayday scoped up a stress ball from one of the unoccupied computer desks and shied it towards Shareware, "I've been here plenty of times before you nerds."

"Hey," Scanner's head popped up from behind a massive bank of instruments, "some of us are proud to be nerds."

"Never," countered Datum, "geek for life, yo!" thumping a fist against his chest than flashing the 'live long and prosper' hand sign made famous by Star Trek years before.

"And you guys wonder why we never get any normal company down here," Blaster shook his head.

Mayday was trying hard to fight back her smile, a visit to Nerd Central never failed to be a fun experience. Even if she couldn't understand half, no scratch that, _most _of what they were talking about.

Maverick laughed, "lighten up Blaster. You're here to kill terrorists, not the mood. Hello Mayday, I take it your here for the information from that hard drive. Hard Drive, ironically enough, cracked it earlier, but he's off for the afternoon." He glanced down at the person he'd been talking to, "oh yes, and this is our new engineer, Gears."

Mayday extended her hand, she'd guessed right, "nice to meet you Gears."

"You're...er...I mean, nice to meet you too."

Mayday turned her attention back to Maverick, not noticing Gears flushing crimson, "what did Drive find?"

"A bit more information about the Chicago Chapter you and your team were hunting down. Unfortunately, since you already have most of them in custody, its not much help with stuff. But it does tell us a bit about Boston and New York chapters. Perhaps you and Shockwave can hit those next."

"Perhaps, depends what it says."

Maverick shrugged, "Got me. We just cracked it, we didn't have time to sift through the thing yet. I can put Firewall on it when she gets in."

"Its alright," Mayday replied taking a flash drive from Maverick, "Shockwave and I will go through it and see if there's anything for us. We'll send it upstairs to Java to file once we've gone through it."

"Sure thing. Have a good day."

"You too."

Blaster watched Mayday leave, and once she was out of earshot asked, "what's up with you Gears? You were looking at her like you'd never seen a girl before. Your parents did let you out of your bedroom when you were younger right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about Blaster."

"Sure you do," interrupted Shareware, "you were staring at her like a dog stares at a stake after you starve him for six months."

"All right, all of you," Maverick said, "fun time's over, get back to work. Blocker, Gears, you two can go help Kickstart with his project." The two men groaned, "and get Stretcher down here _before_ he hurts himself this time will you?"

Gears muttered something after Maverick turned his back, then shoved himself off from his console, following Blaster out the door and down the stairs. Blaster paused at the foot of the stairs to touch the intercom console and select the med lab, Doc answered after a few seconds and said he'd send Stretcher down in a few minutes. Personally, Blaster liked Triage better, but he was off doing something in Cambodia, so he probably wouldn't be around for a while.

Kickstart was fussing with something in the right knee joint of his Mech, passing tools in and out to where Lug-nut was standing in full Kevlar. Obviously he'd witnessed one of the earlier tests at some point. The testing floor was the bottom of the central concourse, sitting on a thick stone barrier a little over a level thick that protected the residential floors, and Blaster walked out into the middle of the floor and looked up to watch other Joes going about their business on the circular concourses of the levels above. Two floors up was another barrier level with a hatch that could iris closed to protect the lower levels, then the infirmary and common levels, followed by another barrier and hatch, then the motor pool and hanger. The concourse ended there beneath another barrier layer that blocked off the command offices that comprised the top two levels. Shapes of Joes could be seen moving on every level, and Icefield and Alpine were hanging from ropes alongside one of the levels bolting steal plates to the wall as Shrapnel passed them over. Well, Blaster shrugged, I guess steal plates did look a little better than bare rock.

He could see Stretcher waiting two levels up by the elevator bank with what looked like a small suitcase full of stuff on a cart. Here we go again.

"Hey Blaster," Gears asked, "mind if I ask you something?"

"Her first name's Paige."

"What?"

"Mayday, the girl you were drooling over."

Gears rolled his eyes and continued, "No, why are we sending that information off to them rather than mining it ourselves? Isn't that kind of our job?"

"Well, it would be if our tech staff was actually here full time, but they're only here on rotation before they get shipped off to set up some other locations, so we've got a backlog longer than Santa's Naughty List."

In the corner, the bell for the cargo lift chimed, and Wetsuit and Deep Six exited, pulling a massive roller sledge on which the SHARC prototype sat, still dripping from its test in the pool; Crayfish and Riptide pushed from behind followed by Spreadsheet making notes on his tablet.

"Hey Sheet, you guys get the port engine working this time?" Blaster asked.

"That's working, but now the rudder is jamming. You haven't seen Switchboard around have you?"

"He's up at The Cooler for the week, I think."

"Drat. I think its a programming issue since it was working last week and there's nothing in the mechanism I can find."

"Well, put her back in the berth and I'll take a look at here later. Gears, you mind giving me a hand with the hardware?"

"Sure, might as well; its not like I'm not doing anything else this afternoon."

Blaster bit back another joke about Mayday, they'd already hazed poor Gears pretty baddly last week and that was enough. The new guys always got it pretty bad, well, none quite as bad as Divebomb and Prowl had at Halloween, but bad.

"Oh, Sheet, before you head up, would you mind firing off a message to Sonar for me? I think I figured out what`s wrong with the Dessaix's laser link."

"That`ll make Narwhal a happy man. What do I tell them?"

"In the technical fixes folder on Server E, I put a file titled DessaixLL. Attach that."

"Got it. I`ll get it out in a half hour or so. Try not to get yourself blown up if they have any questions."

Blaster laughed, but knew with Kickstart's mech project, that was an all-to-likely possibility, and the main reason Stretcher was now hauling a cart of equipment off the main lift. Spreadsheet followed Crayfish and Riptide's retreating backs as they pushed the SHARC back into its temporary housing where the designers would take another look at the necessary improvements to get it to work. Most of the berths on the testing floor were now filled with ideas in various stages of completion, the Devilfish light assault boat, a folding assault chopper for the RHINO, the Skyhawk (thankfully almost completed) and Brainstorm's crazy Brodcast Energy Transmitter thing just to name a few.

Sometimes Blaster wondered when Brainstorm actually intended to finish the B.E.T. It had been cluttering up space for over six months and was hardly more complete now than it had been two weeks after the first panels had been attached. A lot of those who knew of the project dismissed it as a pipe dream, but Maverick and Laptop insisted on letting him continue with the project, so Blaster wouldn't argue with that, much though he would have liked to. Damn Bureacruacy.

Over by the elevators the four divers were double-timing it to the doors to get away before Kickstart fired up his project; word got around fast it seemed. Blaster waved an arm at Stretcher and gestured for him to pull a switch inset into the wall near where he was. A quick flip and bullet proof glass pannels began to iris out from the first barrier level two flooors up, and cover the balcony on the Technology offices one floor up. A single stray bullet could reak havoc in the upper levels, and some of the other stuff they were testing out could be even worse. The glass was to allow observation of the tests for anyone who was interested. Once the area was closed off, they could begin testing.

"That's that!" announced Kickstart. "Thanks for the help Lugnut."

"No problem. Just one request."

"Sure, what's that?"

"Wait till I'm back in the motor pool before you start this thing up."

And with that, Lugnut took off heading for the emergency stairs at full speed, closing his toolbox as he ran.

"Oh come on," Kickstart yelled in frustration towards the retreating mechanic, "its a prototype, its _supposed_ to blow up occassionally."

Gears leaned over towards Blaster, "he's joking right?"

"Sadly enough, I don't think he is." 


	25. 04 14 2034 Intelligence Report

UN Special Task Force 1 Intelligence Report 01.100.001A  
Prepared 0900h 04/15/2034  
Contributing Officers: Action Man, Claymore, Scarlett, Surefire, Bullet Proof, Lifeline  
Cobra Command

Cobra Commander  
Supreme Commander of Cobra Terrorist Forces

No information was provided from our agent, Code Name: Chuckles in the intelligence packet we received 07/26/2033. We have pooled global intelligence sources for this report.  
**  
From Interpol's File:**

World intelligence services agree that no information about the individual known as 'Cobra Commander' can be found for dates before 2025. During 2025, several small terrorist organizations were detected worldwide, all answering to an individual they referred to as 'the Commander'. Undercover agents inserted into the organizations were able to ascertain that these organizations were established as early as 2015 by an individual who was 'dissatisfied with capitalism, the abuses of big business, and corruption of the democratic system'. Our agents have been unable to determine the nationality and country or origin for this individual, but have ascertained that he currently has no permanent base of operation, instead moving between these terrorist cells. The prefix 'Cobra' has only been added on the basis of intelligence provided by UN Special Task Force 1.

Investigations launched in 2029 discovered similarly organized cells in the African continent that appeared to answer to the same commanding individual. However, in these locations he claims to be interested in 'liberating the African nations from the tyranny of the Northern minority' comparing his actions to those of Lincoln and Nelson Mandela.

Our analysts believe he tailors his platform to the concerns of dissatisfied individuals in the local environment and political situation where the cell is established. We have however been unable to ascertain his current goals.

Of note, no undercover agent has reported back after more than 8 days of service. It is currently unclear whether they are converted or executed. We presume the latter.  
**  
From CIA Communication:**

Our intelligence service has no information on the individual known as 'Cobra Commander' other than a speculation he was involved in the terrorist attacks of Black Thursday.

*We believe that the Agency has more information that they are unwilling or unable to release - Surefire  
**  
From CSIS File: **

*In addition to information similar to that provided by INTERPOL:

Recent evidence has connected the 'Cobra' organization to suspected terrorist attacks on the Sigma Six nuclear reactors in 2019. Although the explosions were never confirmed to be due to terrorism rather than malfunction, recent information from an operative captured from a 'Cobra' cell in Toronto indicate that that group may have been responsible. Further investigation is pending.  
_  
For further information on Sigma Six please contact Sgt. Archive._

**Further Information and Analysis**:  
Action Man

Personal undercover activities in the late 2010s brought me into contact with the organizations described in INTERPOL's file. Although at the time, they seemed small and unconnected, they shared a similar philosophy and undercurrent. My investigations of the man now known as 'Cobra Commander' allowed me to discover several contradictory histories of the man's past. I assume that these were spread in order to disguise his true identity, although I believe that one of them is indeed his true history.

The most likely story begins with the bank foreclosing on his family's car dealership in the continental United States shortly after his father's death while the family was struggling to pay his medical bills from a prolonged hospital stay. His mother committed suicide leaving only the man who became the commander and his sister. It is currently unclear what became of his sister. The first 'Cobra' cells were formed in the early or mid 2010s (reports vary) either in the eastern or southern United States. From the first cells, both 'Cobra Commander' and all 'Cobra' acolytes wore some version of face masks to mask their identity.

The whereabouts of 'Cobra Commander' during the building phase of the 'Cobra' organization remains unknown due to his lack of a constant basis of operation.  
  
Agent X-99  
Special Operations Agent****

Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033

Most records of this operative are secured and coded and thus were not obtained for this report. It appears that the individual in question has served as a special bodyguard for Cobra Commander since shortly after the formation of the organization. It is therefore unclear why he (or possibly she) does not have a higher administrative function with the organization. At this time it appears that Agent X-99's services are applied to single-operative missions around the world, although the nature of these operations remains unknown.

Lacking anything in the way of identification for this individual, no further analysis is possible. Requests for further information have been submitted through the back channels to operative Code Name: Chuckles.

Asa Negra  
Director of Cobra Africa  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
Before joining Cobra, she ran influential hearts and minds campaign in the Sudan that sparked the most recent civil war there. Her group was soundly defeated by the local government and went underground, despite retaining several hundred thousand active members as of 2018. By the time she allied with Cobra in 2024, her organization consisted of a confirmed number of over 4 million disenfranchised individuals, and has become one of the largest population bases for the Cobra organization. Individual identities of the members are protected, instead they are assigned a 9 digit numeric code upon joining and a red bandanna to hide their faces. These precautions make identification during organizational meetings impossible, and have prevented any focused government crackdown on the group's operations.

Further, the anonymity afforded to members has allowed their infiltration into key government positions which allows further funnelling of men and material to the Cobra organization.  
**  
Further Information and Analysis**:  
Action Man

Her actions as a terrorist are a matter of public record and can be found with any quick online search, and thus will not be included in this briefing. Instead I focus on the points salient to current operations. We know that she keeps a permanent base somewhere in Sudan, though the precise location has yet to be determined. Further, we have reason to believe that this base is in the capital city due to her myriad connections. As such, she presents an identifiable target, confined to a single search area that would be opportune for infiltration.

However, the connections alluded to in the files obtained from the Cobra organization are worrisome. If the numbers are accurate, Cobra has a much larger pool of manpower to draw upon than we had originally anticipated, indeed far more than the support commitments made by various countries for anti-Cobra operations. This advantage may present future issues on the battlefield for which we must be prepared.

Baroness  
Director of Intelligence  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
The Baroness appears to have been one of the earliest additions to the Cobra command staff, preceded only by Cobra Commander, Ghost and Scarface. As such, most of her activities with the organization are shrouded in secrecy. However, it is clear that she is in charge of intelligence and counterintelligence operations for the organization. She has been influential in the selection of many of the newer members of Cobra command and appears to be responsible for turning agents sent against cobra. A process at which she has been very successful.

She is not usually present at, or involved in massed rallies or the general military wing of the operation, instead operating as a shadow power manipulating many different operations. However, her reach is beyond that of even Major Blood, General Blitz or Wild Weasel. Her actions have brought several smaller terrorist organizations, both established and recently formed, under the Cobra banner, and have allowed the organization to negotiate alliances or non-aggression pacts with many other larger terrorist organizations including Al Qaeda, Hezbollah and the Irish Republican Army. This allows the Cobra organization unprecedented access to men, material and territory. Current estimates suggest that Cobra cells exist in over 180 countries (NOTE: 193 nations currently belong to the United Nations). Such a widespread support base will make counter-terrorist operations against this organization incredibly difficult and expensive.

Furthermore, recent activity suggests that she is attempting to organize an alliance with the Military Research and Armament's Syndicate (MARS) Military branch, as well as an unknown group referred to as the "Red Shadows"__

For further information of the Military research and Armaments Syndicate or the Red Shadows please see Appendix 1: Other Organizations of Interest  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Claymore

Interestingly, her early life was very public. The daughter of an English baron, she is 1,208 in line for the throne. I have to admit, I had to do a search to confirm this, but they do indeed have the list of 'in line to the throne' down through 2,500 individuals. That aside, she was raised on an estate in Kent, throughout her childhood, during which her mother died. We believe she may also have had a younger brother, but after her mother's death in 1998 when she was two years old, the family disappeared from the public eye. Tabloid speculation at the time suggested that the elder baroness may have died in childbirth, though there are no public records to prove this speculation.

A during the 2010s, Baroness Anastasia DeCobray (the younger) was involved in many radically right wing political organizations, including the Armed Guard for Reform (AGR) that attempted to firebomb Buckingham Palace in 2015. The only reason she wasn't jailed for her political activism was due to the direct intervention of her father. In September of 2017, a fire destroyed the family home. It was reported that all inhabitants perished in the blaze, including Anastasia. However, clearly this was orchestrated approximately concurrently with her introduction to the Cobra organization.

A recent operation by G.I. Joe operatives in and around Castle Destro has confirmed the Baroness's interest and attempts to court the MARS organization into an alliance with the Cobra organization. However, our information about the so-called "Red Shadows" remains limited only to their names. It is unclear at this point whether that is an internal classification by the Cobra organization or a legitimate designator for another terrorist group. In either case, both of these potential alliances provide reason for concern as the first would allow the Cobra organization to extremely advanced weaponry, and the second with an unknown group would allow them even greater freedom to pursue their goals, whatever they may be.

It is the belief of the contributing officers that the Baroness should be priority 1 for apprehension and interrogation.  
  
Bayonet  
Snow Serpent Commander  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
Bayonet served in the Cobra Viper division for four years before being moved into the newly formed Snow Serpent corps. As one of the first recruits, he distinguished himself during a military operation in Siberia in which technical plans for an experimental Russian fighter jet were stolen from a facility. Casualties for the Cobra force were negligible while the entire Russian security staff was killed. During this mission, the unit commander was killed, and Bayonet took command, executing six Russians using the bayonet from his rifle, thus earning his nickname among the ranks. For his efficiency, he was promoted to the command of the Snow Serpents.

While the Snow Serpents haven't seen extensive action thus far in the Cobra organization, they actively recruit in many northern countries, and appear to be preparing for a major northerly mission, the nature of which is unclear.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Scarlett

Due to the lack of any identifying information in Bayonet's file, we have been unable to conclusively identify him. However, the nature of his execution of Russian soldiers is similar to that of a dishonourably discharged captain of the Ukrainian army. However, they have not released their records for this individual, so currently there is no way to confirm this identification.

_For further information on the described Russian operation please contact Sgt. Archive._

Big Boa   
Training  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
Big Boa serves as the training and drill instructor for all Cobra troopers, ensuring their fitness and ability to serve. Each morning new recruits are expected to follow him on a 5 mile run, perform 200 pushups, 200 situps, 200 chin ups, followed by a 400 meter sprint up a hill. Only the first 50% of the recruits are allowed to have breakfast. The slowest 50% have to repeat this procedure. The last person in each day is publically executed. This `training` continues for three weeks. Similarly difficult training regimens are imposed on all enlisted Cobra troopers and officers every three months to ensure they remain in shape.

It is unclear whether all new-recruit training is done at a single location, or whether Big Boa moves around the Cobra bases in order to train new recruits at each. Either way, a culture of fear follows him throughout the Cobra organization, and even within such an organization he is considered one of the most dangerous members of the command.

Big Boa does not serve in front line combat duties.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Claymore

Big Boa has proved to be the easiest Cobra operative to identify. Once a member of the Ultimate Fighting Association under the same name, during which his trademark move was the `Boa Constriction` in which he choked an opponent in the crook of his arm. He had an extensive list of charges and convictions with numerous police organizations across the continental United States. During his time with the UFA, he was renowned for unnecessary roughness, and was fined several times for seriously injuring his competitors. His preferred method of take down was to sucker-punch his opponent, drive a knee into his face, and tackle him headfirst to the ground. As you can imagine, this led to a series of serious concussions.

Outside the arena, his personality didn`t improve. Several fans who he felt got `too close` when asking for his autograph were injured when he would physically attack them. He was also known for resisting arrest and assaulting police officers when confronted with the law. Other charges included counts of armed robbery, break and enter, grand theft auto, joyriding, public intoxication, public exposure, bribery, contempt of court, defacing public property, and assault and battery. In total over 350 separate charges were brought against him in a 15 year period. Strangely though, he only served a total of 8 months and 12 days in prison, though he did pay over 3 million in fines.

Twelve years ago he retired from the circuit, and disappeared. No organization ever conducted a proper investigation because he wasn`t a loss to society. Additionally, the ease with which someone can hide in the small towns of the central US, or most of Canada made such a search fruitless. It is unclear when or how he became involved with the Cobra organization, but based on the information from Chuckle`s intelligence report, it indicates that several other members of Cobra command trained under him upon their introduction into the Cobra organization, indicating that his membership would have begun within two years of his retirement from the UFA.

Black Dragon  
Contract Hitman  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
It is unclear what criteria are required to designate a target for this contractor as opposed to being handled 'in house' by one of their numerous operatives, but from our analysis, it appears to be high-profile political or public figures.

He charges a flat rate of five million Euros per hit. No refunds.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Claymore

I have to admit, we really have no idea who this guy is. Other than a slate of mysterious murders that we can hypothesize are linked to him, originating in the Far East there is absolutely no identification on this individual.

Blackout   
Commander of Cobra Sniper Corpse (Blackshirts)  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Blackout is a relatively recent addition to the Cobra command staff, having joined the organization only in 2029. His rise to prominence in the organization stems from both the classified information he brought to the organization and his exceptional abilities with a sniper rifle. If he buys into a mission, there is no one better or more reliable, but his own personal views on an individual or action can make him a wild card.

Blackout is unusual because of his independent streak. He is not afraid to counter the Cobra Commander, something that is absent from any other file. His ability to do this and survive indicates that he is held in high regard by the Cobra Commander or is indispensable in some other indeterminate way.  
**  
Further information and Analysis (Appended only to files for those O5 and above)  
**Lifeline

The presence of Blackout on the Cobra roster is probably the worst nightmare possible for this organization. After some further research into the file, it has been confirmed that Blackout is in fact a former G.I. Joe candidate, and related to two active members, Barrel Roll and Bombstrike. Both can be trusted as they believe that Blackout died on an early training mission in Saudi Arabia.

During this mission, Mirage was leading a group of new recruits through their paces to determine if they qualified for the first brigade, and they were set upon by unknown adversaries believed to be Cobra troopers. Most of the team made it out alive, but three candidate Joes were killed. Or so we believed.

Although the details are understandably unclear, it appears that the Joe candidate who would become Blackout was only injured, and recovered by Cobra operatives. Given that he was abandoned by his fellow Joes, the Cobra operatives would have been provided with an ideal way of turning him to their organization.

As a candidate, Blackout did not have significant access to any sensitive files or information, but at the least, he would have appraised the Cobra organization of our existence, removing the element of surprise from our future interactions, complicating matters significantly. Equally concerning is that he tested among the top 1% of candidates for marksmanship, behind only Low Light and Cross Hair, making him a significant battlefield threat

_For further information on Blackout's disappearance please contact Sgt. Archive. _

Body Bags **  
**Commander of the Range Vipers

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

As nearly as we can tell, Body Bags is an unexceptional member of the Range Vipers who was promoted to his current position due to a series of deaths of his immediate superiors. Speculation suggests that all of these deaths were under mildly suspicious circumstances that, although conceivable to occur under natural circumstances, are unusual. Given the degree of competitiveness throughout the Cobra organization used to weed out 'weak' recruits, it is entirely possible that Body Bags murdered his was up the chain of command, a speculation that may explain the unusual choice of call sign.

Although his performance as a trooper is unexceptional, the troopers under his command appear to follow him unquestioningly, possibly out of fear.

**Further information and Analysis  
**Action Man

Given the man's propensity to murder his own superiors for personal gain, we feel that he is a dangerous adversary who should be kept under careful observation on the battlefield.

Cadet Demming  
Blueshirt

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
The files recovered indicate this woman to be nothing more than a new Cobra trainee. It is unclear why her file was appended, but provides an interesting profile of the training received by the average Cobra inductee. Please see Surefire or Action Man if interested.

Cesspool  
Director of Chemical Warfare Division (Sludge Vipers, Toxo Vipers, Toxo-zombies)  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Cesspool directs the Radiation, Chemical and Biological Warefare division of the Cobra organization. Although it remains unclear how important a cell this is, it appears that they were involved in the development of the dirty bombs used in New Delhi, making them credible and very dangerous threat. Cesspool himself is described as having a 'fearsome personality', 'exhibiting absolutely no tolerance for mistakes' and bearing a 'scarred visage that terrifies new recruits'.

He runs his division with an iron fist that rivals the control that Cobra Commander holds over the entire organization, and promotes a culture of fear from his subordinates. Failure in other branches of Cobra service is punishable by public execution, but under Cesspool, those deemed to have failed are subjected to a 'bath' in biological toxins, and a mind wipe from Dr. Venom to turn them into something called 'Toxo-zombies', presumably as living weapons.

**Further information and Analysis  
**Bulletproof

The man known as Cesspool is a fairly well known criminal, Vincent D'Alleva. In the late 2010s and most of the 2020s, he was the head of a toxic waste management company dealing in 'responsible disposal' of wastes from industrial chemicals to nuclear waste. However, it was determined in 2029 that the company was not properly disposing of it, instead simply burying it in hastily dug strip mines and making an obscene profit from their high service fees. Several governments pressed chargers, but when the FIB attempted to raid his corporate offices, a large firefight with the employees therein erupted. Although they were eventually able to capture most of them, there were significant casualties on both sides. Cesspool himself was never captured, as several agents saw him crash into a tank of stored toxic waste, and presumed him dead.

However, given the descriptions of the facial scaring, personality traits and other clues from the above files, it is believed that this 'Cesspool' in the employ of Cobra, is the same Vincent D'Alleva of Newton Massachusetts.

CLAWS Commander  
Director of Special Services (Cobra Combat Light Armored Weapons Specialists (CLAWS))  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
It is unusual that a member of the Cobra Command does not have a code name of his own, but the CLAWS Commander is known only by his title. Whether this is by choice, or some inferiority to the rest of the command staff is unclear. His unit is tasked with insertions, hit and runs, and other light duty missions. The unit performs efficiently under all circumstances and are referred to as "the pride of the Cobra Armed Forces".

The CLAWS Commander appears to be no more than an exceptional member of the CLAWS who was promoted to run the unit after the old commander died.

Cobra Mortal  
Assassin, Intelligence  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
Cobra Mortal appears to be in charge of most operations on the South American continent, although their activities there appear to be limited to drug trade and recruiting. It is currently unclear just how much of Cobra's funding is obtained from the Drug Trade, but given the close association of the organization with Headman (see entry below), it is highly likely that this is a primary source of revenue.

Cobra Mortal plies his skills in the assassination of rival drug cartel leaders who encroach on the territories of the organizations associated with Cobra, in addition to infiltration of many South American governments.  
**  
**No further information is available at this time.

Coil Crusher  
Infiltration and Assassination  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
Coil Cursher appears to have once been a sumo wrestler in japan who uses his immense strength for assassinations. However, how he accomplishes his infiltration is somewhat unclear due to his size and notability.

Colonel Sharif  
Desert Operations Commander (Range Vipers)  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
Sharif leads the Range Vipers, which serve as the hostile environment troopers of the Cobra Legions and the advanced reconnaissance team.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Scarlett

A former royal guard for the Sultan of Brunei, Sharif disappeared in 2028 with no warning, leaving a wife and 10 children in the care of the state. During the time of his service he displayed exceptional loyalty to both his own family and the Sultan, so there is no evident reason for his defection. He foiled no fewer than 38 assassination attempts on the Sultan, and was allowed access to some of the Sultan's most closely guarded secrets.

Similar loyalty, dedication and efficiency characterize all records of his life from earliest childhood until the days before his disappearance. This has led to speculation by our profilers that he may have been brainwashed into the service of the Cobra organization, which is a distinct possibility given the research of Dr. Venom into the brainwave scanner. .

Copperhead  
Commander of Naval Operations (Eels, Hydro-Vipers, Lampreys, Secto Vipers)  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
A ship mechanic and pilot with nearly unparalled skills in small watercraft, Copperhead directs the naval division of the Cobra organization which is composed primarily of small vessels due to the nature of the organization. Other than simple drop and retrieval operations of other Cobra agents from various missions, his skills have not yet been utilized by the Cobra organization. This has made Copperhead very defensive about his role in the organization and prone to conflict with other, more active, members of Cobra command. ****

Further information and Analysis  
Scarlett

Copperhead was born in the backwoods of the Florida Everglades and learned his way around a swamp and the waters of the Gulf at a young age. His father did part-time work as a mechanic for the many boats that plied the local waters, and a young Copperhead followed him into the business. In his early teens, the family moved to Daytona in order to have better access to a hospital to treat his ailing grandmother. However, Copperhead became interested in the high-speed, high-stakes boat races, first working as a mechanic on the racing boats, and later beginning to race once he was old enough. His contracts were very lucrative, allowing him to pay the medical bills for his grandmother when his father lost his job.

However, after his grandmother died, Copperhead began to bet on the races he was involved in. Because he still raced on contract, he would often sabotage the boats of competitors who he was working for as a mechanic to ensure his choice won. However, not content with simply making money, he began to bet on his own races, and it quickly became evident to several gaming and racing authorities that he was rigging the races, often with fatal consequences.

A police raid missed him by only hours, and Copperhead disappeared to Monaco and later Japan to continue his illegal racing practices under new names. Around 2027 he disappeared from the circuit, and his competitors breathed a collective sigh of relief. It is unclear when and how he became involved in the Cobra organization.  
  
Croc Master  
Co-Director of Security  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

In partnership with Night Adder, one of the two Cobra operatives in charge of the security of Cobra operations and containment of prisoners. His penchant for trained crocodiles likely stems from his past life.

Further identification is impossible at this time.

Crystal Ball

Conversion and Induction  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
Crystal Ball has a single purpose in the Cobra organization, to brainwash unwilling new recruits and members to the cobra way of thinking. Though is methods are not described here, we presume that they are simply more stringent versions of those commonly used by terrorist organizations worldwide.

**Further information and Analysis  
**Claymore

Crystal Ball is the seventh son, of the seventh son, or a seventh son. It was believed by gypsies of old that the seventh son of a seventh son would have supernatural powers. Lets just get this over with right now: THERE IS NO SUCH THING! Everything that Crystal Ball does can be explained by the use of modern technology, drugs and psychological suggestion used by many therapists worldwide.  
  
Dr. Mindbender  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

The director of all scientific operations for the Cobra organization. His past is a mystery and his experiments are highly classified. However, it is likely that he was involved in the work done on Poveglia Island.

Dr. Venom  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
A genius research scientist who has bought his work to Cobra in order to advance their agenda.

**Further information and Analysis  
**Scarlett

Venom is a Canadian scientist who worked briefly for Bree Steen, developing new technologies. One of his most incredible breakthroughs is something called the 'Brainwave Scanner' that allows an operator to read minds, and after some modifications, to alter memory. Though the technical details of its operation are extremely complex, its serves many obvious purposes, none of them good: interrogation, brainwashing, manipulation, extortion and many others. 

Gallows 

SAW Viper Officer  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

The director of the SAW Vipers is actually subordinate to the man referred to as "Stoner" (see entry below). Gallows' file contains no information that identifies him as anyone more significant than a competent operator.  
  
Grim Skull  
Sand Viper Commander

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

A Saudi Arabian mercenary who joined the Cobra organization and now leads their desert forces.

Guillotine  
EEL Commander

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Handpicked by Copperhead to direct all underwater operations, Guillotine is a former French soldier who retired from service to pursue other interests in life and eventually fell in with the cobra organization. His military training made him competent in underwater demolitions which is his primary specialty. 

Headman  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
It is unclear what function Headman serves within the Cobra organization and whether he is a full-time member or a private contractor under their current employ. His history as a drug-dealer is well documented and on an unprecedented scale. As far as his records indicate, he is responsible for a generous cash flow into the Cobra organization, and his 'headhunters' are active spies in the community. Information is limited, suggesting only a peripheral involvement.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Bulletproof

I spent nearly 8 years hunting this man across the United States before he faked his own death in Orlando three years ago. I have to admit, I was quite happy to have finally been rid of him. He was one of the most unscrupulous drug dealers I`ve ever come across, and that`s saying a lot. Admittedly it doesn't help that he only bathes once a year on Guy Fawkes day.

He runs his business as a paramilitary operation, with a distinct military hierarchy. I don't know if the rankings of his 'headhunters' and 'headhunter stormtroopers' actually correspond to military or police rankings, but their organization rivals both types of organizations and have resulted in several high-casualty shootouts across the United States. I believe his operations also stretch internationally through Canada and most of Europe, although these were both out of my jurisdiction. His main supply comes from his connections with several major drug cartels of South America, and there is some suggestion from informants that he may have been involved in hostile takeovers of several of them in a twisted form of vertical integration.

Of note, all his clothes are made of bullet-proof material that has prevented his death in several major turf-wars between drug organizations across the country and is renowned to only bathe once per year on Halloween. Additionally, he is never truly unarmed. His steel-toed boots are tipped with a powdered neurotoxin on each spike which resulted in the death of many apprehending officers, and he has a small knife tucked up each sleeve for his personal defence. Extreme caution is advised.

Hotwire  
Mechanic and Inventor

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Another of Cobra's mad scientists. Hotwire developed their Battle Android Troopers (BATs) and is responsible for their maintenance and development. The BATs are robotic replacements or supplements for more typical ground troops. Although reports indicate that they are somewhat indiscriminate in their targeting, they are highly effective and deadly. Their massed numbers and advanced weaponry would be able to quickly over-run any typical infantry unit.

Interrogator

Prisoner Interrogator

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
Interrogator's roll within the Cobra organization should really be quite self evident. His skills were honed in Russian prisons for thirty years before he joined the Cobra organization. The Russian government refuses to release the relevant records of his service to them, likely due to breaches of human rights. Based on the descriptions listed by those Cobra members who have observed his techniques they are unnecessary brutal, often leaving the individual of interest physically and mentally scared beyond all recognition.

Madame Umbra   
Organized Crime

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

The primary funder of the Cobra organization.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Claymore

The organization Umbra has been a thorn in the sides of world intelligence and policing agencies for over two hundred years. It is always run by a woman, possibly of a matriarchal line, who takes the title of Madame Umbra. The organization runs extensive organized crime organization worldwide. Originally an outgrowth of the mafia, the groups split in the early 1800s. Because they keep a lower profile, the public isn't as aware of their operations, but their size has recently eclipsed that of their founding organization. They have contacts and power in every nation of the world, and more often than not have infiltrated the government.

Their primary motive is profit, be it through the selling of classified government secrets, extortion, blackmail, money laundering, kidnapping or other operations. Now, rather than store the profit for their own use and reinvestment, they appear to be sharing it with the Cobra organization, to build a 'New World Order' under which their operations would not only be legal, but protected by the Cobra organization.  
  
Major Bludd

Commander of the Viper Corps

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

The man in charge of the numerous Viper corps, the backbone of the Cobra military organization. He personally trains every officer of the corps, and directs all the operations of its numerous branches. This makes him the direct trunk from Cobra Commander to most of his legions, and also responsible for all their successes and failures.

When he sent members of the Alley Vipers to retrieve the bodies of Cobra operatives from the UN Building in New York, they were killed and Cobra Commander held him personal accountable. As punishment, Scalpel was ordered to remove Bludd's right arm and replace it with a robotic replacement developed by Hotwire.

**Further information and Analysis  
**Scarlett

Bludd is an Australian mercenary who hires his services out to the highest bidder. He has served terrorist organizations on all seven continents, including an infiltration mission to Scott Amundsen in the Antarctic. During his escape from the aforementioned mission his left eye was destroyed by a gunshot wound.

He is also a self-published poet, despite the fact his poetry is absolutely unreadable.

Raptor  
Accountant  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

As a member of the cobra Raptor manages their funds, controls acquisitions and decides what operations are worth the risks involved. Despite his wealth, he basically works as an actuary.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Lifeline

Real weirdo. Also, really _rich_ weirdo.

He ran one of the most successful European business conglomerates, amassing wealth that fell behind only that of Dragon and Phoenix International and Extensive Enterprises. However, he was ruined when he attempted to make a hostile takeover of Extensive Enterprises, which in turn broke his organization, pieces of which were gobbled up by numerous smaller corporations worldwide.

This was the first business mistake he had made in a brilliant career spanning decades. He was educated in accounting at Oxford, and turned a 2000 dollar loan into a business empire worth trillions.

Despite its breakup, Raptor had planned ahead, sheltering several trillion in assets, and disappearing before any legal charges could be made against his person for the massive embezzlement of his own companies. It is likely that he sought the Cobra organization as protection from the long reach of Extensive Enterprise, a company that does not forgive those who would oppose them.

His personal hobbies are also of interest. He raises, trains and uses hunting birds, which are capable of tracking as a group any target from the size of a shrew to a commercial airliner. There is some speculation that they were also trained to gather intelligence from rival corporations, though it is unclear how this would have been accomplished. What makes this strange is that whenever he works with his pets he insists as dressing in feathered headgear, and wings so that he looks like them.

Diagnoses in childhood suggested several mental disorders that make him prone to irrational flights of fancy, which may be the cause of his peculiar attachment to these birds, and the mistake of fighting Extensive Enterprises.  
  
Rip It  
Commander of the Motor Pool  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Rip It began life in the Cobra organization as a mercenary turned Blueshirt. However, during an operation, they encountered a group of Israeli military supported by tanks. While the rest of his unit panicked, Rip It and another trooper attacked the crew of one of the flanking tanks, managing to kill the occupants. Rip It't partner died in the attempt, but Rip It was able to take control of the tank and turn it against the Isralie forces, turning the tide in Cobra's favour.

Because of his actions, he was able to turn the mission from a disaster into a success. After the mission's conclusion, he brought the tank back to the Cobra organization, and was immediately promoted to the motor-pool because of his aptitude. At this time, the motor pool was only poorly developed, and he proved himself the most flexible and competent driver among the members of the motor pool, and was quickly promoted to an officer, eventually taking charge of all operations.

**Further information and Analysis  
**Surefire

Through extensive searching it has been determined that Rip It is of Iranian descent, and began serving as a mercenary when his family was killed by the government when the military opened fire on protesters. He blamed the western nations for not having come to the aid of his people, feeling they were more interested in keeping their wealth than helping people. He only took contracts that involve some disruption to a western nation or company. Now with Cobra, his mental attitude makes him the perfect commander to run a segment of a terrorist organization bent on the destruction of the western world.

Scalpel  
Chief Medical Officer  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Perhaps the most sadistic of the Cobra operatives, he takes pleasure in experimenting on his subjects, and rarely uses anesthetic in any of his operations, regardless of the severity. Instead patients are strapped to the table so that they cannot move. Because of the brutal nature of these 'treatments', many Cobra operatives have perished under the knife.

Additionally, Scalpel is encouraged by Cobra Commander to experiment on his patients to 'improve their fighting abilities', possibly linking him to the facility on Poveglia Island. The results of these experiments are currently unknown.

In addition to leading the Medi-Vipers of the Cobra organization, Scalpel is also involved in punishment of officers who fail at their assigned duties. The most notable event was when Major Bludd's Alley Vipers failed to retrieve the bodies of Cobra Troopers from the UN building in New York (having been foiled by General Colton and Lifeline). As punishment, Bludd's right arm was removed with a hacksaw, while he was kept conscious, and replaced with a prosthetic.

_For further information on Poveglia Island please contact Sgt. Archive._

**Further information and Analysis  
**Lifeline

Apparently my opposite number. From research conducted into Cobra operative: Stoner, I was able to obtain a general outline of an individual who we believe to be Scalpel. Though this identification is still tentative, information obtained about Cobra operative Stoner strongly indicate that it is correct.

It appears that Scalpel's father was a doctor at a hospital in the Bronx, where a hooker brought her son for mental treatments that continued for several years. The physician provided many of these treatments for free, feeling pity for the woman and her son. The physician in question paid for the other boy to attend school with his own son who would eventually become Scalpel. Although the other boy continued to live with his mother, the two grew close and began sharing a lot. Before their meeting Scalpel was a straight A student, the best in his school. However, shortly after meeting the boy who would become Stoner, became difficult and obtained a juvenile rap sheet by age 13. Although his grades remained high, they did slip. During his Grade 12 year, both boys ran away from home and struck out on their own.

Incidents involving the two individuals continued for several years, but the two were never kept in custody long, due to the interventions of a third, as yet unidentified individual. At one point the boy who would become Scalpel managed to forge his way into a medical school, where he received three years of training before being exposed due to a blackmail attempt of the dean. Other crimes he and Stoner committed during this time led to interest by the FBI, who continue to attempt to track them. However, shortly after his expulsion, both Scalpel and Stoner disappeared from all public records, eventually appearing in the Cobra organization.

See Stoner's entry for more information.  
  
Scar Face  
Commander of the Blueshirts and Courier  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Scar Faces serves two purposes within the Cobra organization, firstly to command their massed infantry, the Blueshirts, and secondly to deliver and receive classified communications. This is an unusual job combination, engendered by his fanatical loyalty. Other than Ghost, no other member of the Cobra organization is trusted by Cobra Commander so completely, thus Scar Face is responsible for the security and safe delivery of their most important documents, shipments and information.

As leader of the Cobra Blueshirts, Scar Face demands absolute discipline and efficiency, and relying on the reports received in our intelligence, has turned them into an force that would rival any normal military unit.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Claymore

Scar Face seems to have been one of the first people recruited to the Cobra organization by Cobra Commander. He shows unparalleled loyalty, and a devout fanaticism unmatched by any other known operative. It is clear that he was recruited in the continental United States, but further identification is not possible. It is unknown whether his distinctive scars were received either before or after joining Cobra.

Stoner  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
As nearly as can be traced, the Cobra soldier known as 'Stoner' joined Cobra at approximately the same time as the man who would become Scalpel. Though their records prior to enlistment in the Cobra organization are unclear, likely from their own attempt to obscure their pasts, it seems that the two have been inextricably linked since a shared past in the Bronx. His record with the Cobra organization is unique, even among the SAW Vipers. He has a confirmed 348 kills, and likely unrecorded kills run to at least the same total. He was involved in the 'cleansing' of several small African villages that resisted the arrival of the Cobra organization, as well as being involved in the skirmishes with the Pakistani army on the border with India after the fragmentation of the later nation.

His whereabouts during the Chino-Korean War are unreferenced, and the lack of relevant information suggests that he was one of the group of Cobra agents sent to be involved in that war. Though it is still unclear what, if any, side they fought for or what their objectives were. However, before the missing period in his record, he was ranked equivalent to a sergeant in the Cobra organization, and the first record after the Chino-Korean war indicates a promotion to captaincy equivalence. Despite this, it does not appear that he has ever been involved in a command capacity with the SAW vipers, instead attached to various operations as heavy weapons support. He has shown himself to be proficient and lethal in the use of several different types of machine guns, as well as other heavy weaponry.

Ostensibly, he answers to Major Bludd, commander of the Viper corps, but he seems to have a certain degree of latitude rarely afforded to other Cobra command staff. At least any still living members. __

Of interest are also several notations in his psychological profile. The evaluations by his fellow officers range from 'highly disturbed' to 'extremely reliable' with every possible permutation in between represented. Analysis of the comments suggests that he has sadistic tendencies, and lacks any moral compass in his dealings. These characteristics would be highly prised by Cobra command in a field officer, allowing them to deploy troops that would perform actions that would normally incite revulsion. Additionally, there is this one comment in the file of note: "He gets more ass than a toilet seat." This comment is attributed to a Night Viper officer with whom he has worked with on several occasions. While the import of this would at first appear to be below the notice of this organization, it may indicate nymphomania, a mental condition rare in males, but known to occur, suggesting further mental instability. The combination of several clinically serious mental diseases suggests that this is an individual to be carefully monitored. Extreme caution is advised in any attempt to apprehend the individual in question.  
_  
_**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Lifeline

Admittedly, this is not my usual specialty, but given the number and severity of mental conditions suggested by this report, I cross-referenced a database of medical records for the New York area to determine if he was ever treated for his myriad of instabilities. One match for all indicated conditions was found in the Bronx, as suggested by the file. All of these conditions have relatively low prevalence rates, though highly variable, and with a generally significantly higher in disadvantaged areas such as the Bronx. However, the combination of the suspected conditions is exceedingly rare, and even when present in combination, complete diagnosis would be rare, because one condition would be more evident, and its presentation would distract from the symptoms of the other(s).

Normally, opening a patient's medical file without their consent is of questionable legality, but given the authorizations provided to this organization and that the software was developed by my own company, we were able to access the information required without a normal court order. Although the patient photographs contained within are now several years out of date, there remains a distinct resemblance between the individual in question and the Cobra agent 'Stoner.' The records indicate that the individual in question was born to a hooker on the street with which the attending physicians were familiar with from previous hospitalizations for drug and abuse-related injuries (Further information on the mother can be obtained upon request).

It appears that at a young age the mother brought the individual in question into the hospital for mental treatments that continued for several years, and that many of these treatments were provided gratis by a certain attending physician who had a son about the same age and felt sympathy for the woman. At this point I will mention that further information was discovered by some impressive hacking work by Shareware.

The physician in question paid for the individual in question to attend school with his own son, and served as the 'legal' guardian, though the boy continued to live with his mother. The two boys appear to have remained close during school, and school board records indicate that they became quite difficult within school and had each earned juvenile rap sheets by age 13. At this point, the physician's son ran away from home and the two struck out on their own. City records indicate that the mother of the individual in question was killed in a gang shooting shortly thereafter. Further incidents involving the two young adults continued for several years, but the police were never able to keep the two in custody due to the interventions of a third, as yet unidentified individual.

The physician's son eventually became the Cobra agent 'Scalpel' (See his respective entry for more information) and the boy who we tentatively identify as 'Stoner' assisted him in several other crimes until the two were wanted by the FBI. At this point both disappeared from all public records. We suspect they went underground and were eventually drawn in by the Cobra organization if the identification postulated here is correct.

Vanguard

Forward Observation and Reconnaissance  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**  
  
It appears that Vanguard served with the Range Vipers before being assigned an individual mission role due to his performance in group missions and tendency to act alone. He is now attached to other missions requiring only a single forward observer to report back to a main assault force.

No further information is available at this time.

Vapor  
Air Force Operator (Cobra Flight Barge)

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

We actually received no direct of this individual in the files we received. Instead his name and assignment were determined from obscure mentions in other files. Who he is, or what a Cobra Flight Barge is remains unknown.

Vector

Laser Viper Commander

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Vector was a Yale graduate before joining Cobra, specializing in laser electronics. He now serves as the primary technician and commander for the Cobra Laser Vipers. It is however unclear whether these are laser targeting units for long-range artillery, or offensively capable lasers.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Claymore

Yale thankfully keeps very close track of their graduates, allowing a fairly simple identification of Vector, we believe his name is William Botas (_both-ass)_. If this identification is correct, he graduated in the top third of his class. During his time on campus he was an isolated student, not well known by any of his professors, other than for his dedication in the laboratory, and essentially unknown to any of his fellow students. He did not participate in any organized activities, and was a loner. It may have been this isolation, either voluntary or due to external reasons, that led him to seek the Cobra organization.

Both his parents are still alive, but claim to have been unaware of their son's current activities. They are currently under surveillance.

Velocity   
AVAC Commander

**Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Velocity appears to be little more than an expectational member of the AVACs who was promoted to a command position. His code name comes from his propensity to damage the Firebats he is using in order to 'test their endurance' by redlining the engines for maximum velocity.

No further information is available at this time

Wild Weasel  
Commander of the Air Force  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

An exceptional pilot, who defected from the British Royal Air Force to Cobra due to disagreements with his commanding officer. As one of the first military trained defectors to Cobra, he was placed in charge of their Air Force, and also serves as the pilot for Cobra Command. His flying is unparallelled in the legions. Few missions have yet involved the Cobra Air Force however, so he has had few opportunities to distinguish himself.  
**  
Further information and Analysis  
**Scarlett

Unfortunately, several members of the RAF have left the service recently matching Wild Weasel's description and cannot be contacted, preventing any conclusive identification or background from being obtained.

However, operatives Sneak Peak and Agent Faces encountered Wild Weasel and Munita in Shetland during a mission, during which a bullet shattered Wild Weasel's jaw. The extent of the injury and what treatment was provided by Scalpel or other Medi Vipers is currently unknown.

Wraith  
Intelligence Contractor  
**  
Report compiled from intelligence packet received from agent Code Name: Chuckles 07/26/2033**

Despite our belief that he had been captured, and subsequently killed during an attempted prison break in The Cooler, Wraith remains very much at large. Although he officially operates as an independent, he has received significant payments from the Cobra organization and appears to be receiving a permanent retainer for his services. He specializes in the gathering of information generally considered inaccessible, and the assassination of highly protected targets using unique methods described below.

His services were first contracted by the Cobra organization in order to obtain files from MI6 relating to Russian military bases, for a future assault (See Bayonet for a description). The speed and success led to his services being contracted at several future intervals.

**Further information and Analysis  
**Action Man

Although Wraith officially remains a distinct entity from Cobra, contracting his services out to anyone willing to pay, the retainer he is currently accepting from the Cobra organization is unprecedented, suggesting an unusual degree of connection with the organization that must not be taken lightly.

Wraith's early life is easy to trace as he is a person of interest to almost every major intelligence organization around the planet. Wraith's real name is Charles Halifax, and was born in Lyon, France. He studies engineering at the University of Lyon, specializing in optics and nano-engineering. His studies led him to work with the French government on stealth technology, specifically cloaking devices. Shortly after the turn of the century, labs in the United States determined that it was possible to bend light around an atomic particle, thus effectively making it invisible, but despite years of work, the project was never able to advance the technology beyond microscopic particles.

Charles Halifax developed a new technology, combining nanobots with fiber optics, advanced computing and image projection software. By applying these concepts to a surface (specific details available on request - contact Lifeline) it was able to project an image of the environment behind it on its own surface, giving the appearance of invisibility. Use on a three-dimensional surface could essentially 'cloak' an object beyond all detection. Further experimentation resulted in an enhanced version that was also undetectable to other parts of the electromagnetic spectrum, and therefore perfectly invisible to all sensors.

This technology was used by the French government to cloak two nuclear submarines, the Liberté and the Desaix (the later of which is now in use by this organization. The success of these vessels led the French to commission other prototypes of suits to be worn by their soldiers for use in the Chino-Korean War. Halifax added advanced weaponry systems to the prototype suit, and at some point, must have realized the possibilities that such technology represented. During a scheduled demonstration to the French military command, he absconded with the suit, quite literally under their noses, and began a life of crime.

He offered his unique services to the highest bidders for espionage, murder and a host of other crimes. Because he could move completely undetected, and his armaments generally outclassed any opponents, he quickly became one of the most sought after mercenaries worldwide. His notoriety second only to Firefly. (A ful list of his activities can be obtained from Action Man)

During an attempted assassination of a French General at his vacation home, Halifax was met with unexpected resistance in the form of G.I. Joe operative Snake Eyes who was on another mission. Halifax was imprisoned at The Cooler for interrogation. However, 04/24/2033, Wraith and several other inmates organized a massed prison break, during which Wraith regained his armor. A man believed to be Wraith was killed by the quick work of G.I. Joe operatives Steel Brigade Commander, Rook, Checkpoint and Red Spot. However, the man inside the armor did not match Halifax's description, and the armor did not bare the damage that Snake Eyes had inflicted during the original capture.

This leads to speculation that another associate, wearing an identical suit managed to break in and allow Wraith to escape. However, why no further Cobra activity has subsequently been targeted at The Cooler is unclear. The only way that Wraith could have escaped The Cooler was on the departing Desaix, which was berthed in the underground hanger at the time, and in that case it is possible that he may not have been able to identify the location of The Cooler. Whether Cobra has learned of the location of The Cooler is thus unclear.

In either case Wraith remains at large and a significant threat.

_For further information on the attempted prison break please contact Sgt. Archive._

-

Appendix 1: Other Organizations of Interest  
**  
Red Shadows**

This organization is unique in that it is referenced by files recovered from the Cobra organization, but does not appear to correlate to any known terrorist organization. It is unclear whether this is simply a coded reference to another already well known group, or whether it is a separate entity. The descriptions provided in the Cobra files indicate that is a quite sizable organization, making it unlikely that it could have completely evaded detection.

Until further information can be obtained, we are operating on the assumption that this is an unknown organization. If this is in fact the case, it makes this group exceedingly dangerous if they could avoid detection for that long and be that large.

**Iron Grenadiers  
**  
The military branch of the Military Armaments Research Syndicate (MARS) run by the Scottish family McCullen. Currently the family is led by the twenty-seventh descendant of the line. It is generally known to serve as security detail for MARS owned or associated companies, and for industrial espionage and sabotage. No military action has been conducted by this force, but it is of interest because the MARS organization is of interest to the Cobra organization, suggesting that their armaments development, and possibly this paramilitary arm may be co-opted in future.

MARS itself is the largest producer of military armaments in the world, with several billion dollars in sales reported anually. It has been suggested that this represents only half the true sales of the company as many buyers may choose to operate off the official record for various reasons.

Further information will be provided in future intelligence briefings.

Known officers include:

Destro - Heir to the McCullen holdings  
Armada - An assistant to Destro whose identity remains unknown  
Darklon - a half-brother of Destro  
General Mayhem - General of the Iron Grenadiers in charge of Field Operations  
Metal Head - Weapons Specialist  
Scrap Iron - Lead Weapons Developer  
Sergeant Major - Field Commander of the Iron Grenadiers  
Voltar - General of the Iron Grenadiers in charge of Intelligence Operations

**Dreadnoks**

The Dreadnoks are one of the most dangerous biker gangs of the continental United States, but with additional chapters in Canada, Mexico, and Australia. References to their commander Zartan appear in various recovered Cobra communications, indicating some level of peripheral involvement between the two organizations. However, it is unclear what type of involvement exists.

The Dreadnoks are fiercely territorial and insular, and have been known to execute rival biker gangs that stray onto their territory. While this may not be entirely unusual in that world, it is unusual that all other biker gangs, including larger organizations, even including the Hells Angels, give them a wide berth.

Information is somewhat limited about the structure of the organization beyond the fact that it is run by three siblings who go by the names Zartan, Zarana and Zandar. Beyond that the only information available are police records for various members of the gang across multiple states. Further intelligence is currently being collected by the CIA and CSIS organizations due to the connection of this organization with Cobra.

Known members are included below. Further details will be provided in future intelligence briefs.

Billy Bob  
Burn Out  
Buzzer  
Cletus  
Chop Shop  
Crusher

Death Metal  
Demolisher  
Gnawgahyde  
Heartwrencher  
Joe-bob  
Machete  
Monkeywrench

Otis  
Ripper  
Road Pig  
Roscoe

Rugrat

Thrasher  
Torch  
Vance  
Zandar  
Zanya  
Zanzibar  
Zarana  
Zartan

**OTHER INDIVIDUALS OF INTEREST**

Beyond the normal list of terrorist organizations that are dealt with on a daily basis by the Cobra organization (see Action Man for a full list) that most operatives should already be familiar with, there are also several individuals operating either alone or with a small group that are of interest.

_Sei Tin_

Red Ninja

- Claymore

The answer to the famous Arasihikage clan that produced Snake Eyes, Jinx and Storm Shadow. A rivalry existed between the two clans for milennia before the current era, but has intensified of late. Little is known about this group, or its leader Sei Tin, and the Joe operatives trained in this clan are reluctant to reveal information until "such time as it is necessary' [Jinx].

We do, however, know that they are formidable warriors trained in both ancient techniques of the Ninja Clans and modern weaponry and are not opponents to be taken lightly. However, other than disputes with other groups within Japan, they have undertaken no aggression against a known group.

Sei Tin by contrast is well known across Japan as a contract hit man. While his actions have never been tied back to the Red Ninja clan which he leads, nor visably aided by said clan, his involvement in the assassination of the Japanese Prime Minister on Black Thursday strongly suggests ties with the Cobra organization, although such a link cannot currently be proven. Because of the aforementioned assassination, Sei Tin is being hunted by Japanese authorities and is in hiding. Kamakura, Budo and Nunchuck are currently on loan to their government for this mission.

_The Paine Siblings (Crispo, De sade and Torquemada)_

Professional Torturers

- Action Man

Little is known about the Paine Siblings early life, indeed, it is unclear whether they actually _are_ siblings. They began selling their services in 2022 to various organizations, both legitimate and illegitimate as "prisoner interrogators using advanced techniques". They have a reputation for pure brutality and a minimal fee of one million dollars. Each. Despite the stigma surrounding their work and the exorbitant prices they charge, they are in extremely high demand by both governments and terrorist organizations around the world.

We have reason to believe that they may have been hired at various intervals by the Cobra organization before the arrival of the Cobra operative Interrorgator.

_Derek Sutherland_

British Weapons Supplier

- Scarlett

The Scotish and British have always had an intense rivalry, and this is epitomized by the British equivalent to MARS Industires, Sutherland Weaponry under the helm of Derek Sutherland. The company was founded only 100 years ago by Sutherland's Great Grandfather and has become the second largest weapons manufacturer behind MARS. The rivalry has become intense, with both parties conducting espionage and sabatoge of the other, and Sutherland appears poised to take over MARS Industries for the number one position in sales in the comming year. However, just as MARS Industries is fairly unscrupulus in who they sell their products too, Sutherland Weaponry is no better, selling to governments and comercial intersts. It is of note though that he does not deal with terrorist organizations. It is for this reason that a large proportion of G.I. Joe's weaponry has been purchased from his company.

However, an individual with this power must be monitored closely, especially given that he has ties to Extensive Enterprises, which is believed to be associated with the Cobra organization.

_The Wingfields (Tyler and Vance)_

American Terrorists

- Action Man

A homegrown terrorist threat. Although they have never been formally charged, or been observed to perform any outwardly hostile operations, they are under constant surveillance by several intelligence agencies. Their organization believes that: "the United States has been contaminated by the influx of the unclean from the African, Asian and Australian continents and this scourge must be wiped from our presence and collective consciousness in order to purify our culture" [from The Truth About American Society and the Way To Reclaim Our Greatness by Vance Wingfield].

They promote a highly racist atmosphere in which their members perform cross burnings, hazings, and other hate crimes. However, as these actions are performed on private property, out of sight of any individuals except for the aforementioned surveillance agencies, no formal charges can be mounted. The Wingfields have sued several Intelligence Agencies for 'breach of constitutional rights', though thankfully all cases have been thrown out of court to date.

It is hypothesized that they have access to nuclear materials due to Tyler's previous work on Three Mild Island. Further investigation is being undertaken by other organizations.

_Tomax and Xamot_  
Businessmen

- Lifeline

In many ways, the bane of Bree's and my existence. The Rogue brothers established and run the company Extensive Enterprises from Fort Collins Colorado, which is the second largest mega-corporation in the world behind Dragon and Phoenix International. Several times, our companies have battled over purchasing rights to companies, stock ownership, land deals and several other issues. They tend to specialize in investment and company resale rather than the active running or licencing of their purchases. Though they are hands-off in management, their monetary investments have often turned a company's fortunes from bankruptcy to industry domination. While this may be seen simply as good business practice, the speed and consistency of these changes are unusual. Some investigation of their company discovered that competitors to their recently purchased companies were bought by front companies officially located in another country and then deliberately mismanaged to fail. The money lost in the purchase of these companies is partially recouped when the companies are purchased by other mega corporations, a trick that our own Dragon and Phoenix International has fallen prey to on more than one occasion, and the rest is easily accounted for from the profits derived from the now dominant corporation purchased by Extensive Enterprises.

Through these practices have made the Rogues exceedingly wealthy, they are illegal in most of the countries involved. However, their wealth has allowed them to bury the few legal actions that were initiated against this practice. They are further insulated by their "Crimson Guards". Through this para-military group they provide security and industrial espionage/sabotage services to both their own holdings and to separate companies that pay an exorbitant fee, thus further boosting their bottom line. Given the development of Extensive Enterprises, and their unique ability to 'scoop' other corporations on the development of a new technology, these "Crimson Guards" are likely passing back intelligence to their controllers at Extensive Enterprises. What is notable about the "Crimson Guards" is their unusual amount of weaponry. No other public security force is armed with assault rifles and sub machine guns.

While their business practices are likely of only peripheral interest, it is of note that several corporations now known to be a front for the Cobra organization employ these "Crimson Guards" as their primary security force. Whether or not the Rogue brothers are aware that these groups are tied to a terrorist organization is unclear, as Cobra records make no direct mention of Extensive Enterprises, the Rogues, or even the Crimson Guards. However, this link, no matter how tenuous is extremely dangerous, especially should the Cobra Organization ever manage to gain access to the immense funds and numerous connections of Extensive Enterprises.

Also in their employ are two individuals of interest:

Colonel Calvin - commander of the Crimson Guards, and former Marine Colonel

Professer Appel - scientific officer for Extensive Enterprises

-

Appendix 2: Other Cobra Operatives 

These Cobra Operatives were mentioned in various recovered materials but have little identifying information. Where possible, their positions in the Cobra organization are listed.

Basher - Position Unknown

Count Vlad the Cruel - Position Unknown - likely science officer

Cruncher - Position Unknown

Decimator – Driver

Dice - Position Unknown

Dog-Day - Position Unknown

Dr. ? - Position Unknown

Dr. Biggles Jones - Position Unknown - likely science officer  
Dr. Knox - Position Unknown - likely science officer  
Dr. Lucifer - Position Unknown - likely science officer

General Blitz – Position Unknown

Ghost Bear - Intelligence

Graf Knodor - Position Unknown

Gristle - Position Unknown

Incision - Ninja Viper Commander

Infrared - Night Viper Commander

Kracken - Position Unknown

Karwl - Position Unknown

Madagascar - Position Unknown

Major Chill - Position Unknown

Marshall Null - Position Unknown

Mean Streak - Position Unknown

Munitia – Position Unknown

Neurotoxin - Position Unknown

Night Adder - Co-director of Security

Night Wing - Position Unknown

Overkill - BAT Commander

Overlord - Tactical Officer

Panhead - Position Unknown

Piledriver - Construction

Probe - Medi-Viper officer

Professor ID - Position Unknown

Professor Paine - Torturer

Ravage - Position Unknown

Razorclaw - Position Unknown

Reaper - Position Unknown

Shadowstrike - Position Unknown  
Skull Buster - Range Viper/Special Services

Skulker - Intelligence

Sky Creeper - Pilot

Sky Skull - Pilot

Slice - Position Unknown  
Slash - Position Unknown  
Vypra - Position Unknown


	26. 04 18 2034 Twilight NEW

**04/18/2034 - Twilight  
**  
_04/18/2034: 0600h - The Rock - Briefing Room_

Rapid Fire dropped down into the seat next to Falcon, "any idea what's going on around here?"

"Got me," he replied, "but its got the brass antsy as all hell. Even Steel seems to be crapping his pants about something."

"Great. I thought Courage looked jumpy when I passed him earlier. Though I'm not really sure what makes me more nervous, that, or the people assembled for this briefing."

Falcon was tempted to agree, the assemblage was worrisome: Med Alert, Stretcher and Triage were chatting in the corner, an unusual sight to see all three medics in one place; Airtight and Sci-fi were no doubt debating the latest in modern warfare techniques; Blowtorch, Dart, Sparta and Antenna were clustered around the front; Barricade, Widescope and Shockwave lounged near the far right wall and Tarurus, Red Dog and Slaughter were arm wrestling near the back, watched carefully by an unusually large group of greenshirts. But perhaps most disturbing of all, Snake Eyes was off alone near the far left wall. He never attended briefings, even those rare times he was seen on the bases. Usually he showed up, did something and disappeared. Overall, Falcon definitely had to agree with Rap., this was not exactly an encouraging sign.

The door at the back of the auditorium banged open, with a disturbing series of heavy weapons operators, Heavy Duty, Harpoon, Freight and Hardball barrelling through with Wild Bill on their heals.

"Well that doesn't exactly make me feel any better," Falcon commented, quickly calculating the magnitude of firepower that had just walked into the room, "and that doesn't help either." The last referred to the briefing officer. Usually it was up to Sharpe or Courage to give the briefing, depending on the theater of operations, occasional Lifeline would give it for smaller operations, and once Ledger had been pressed into service, but it was General Colton who was currently walking onto stage from the other door

Even Slaughter and Red Dog quietened at his appearance, the room deathly quiet after the shuffling of a few chairs. Colton wasted no time.

"As you've no doubt seen in the news for the last eleven or so months, across southern Europe there have been thousands of claims of so-called vampire sightings, around the same time that a rash in unidentified deaths began. Sounded ridiculous to everyone outside of Hollywood, and a handful of people at Interpol who decided to investigate. Turns out that the sightings became more numerous the closer they were to Venice. Interviews on the ground showed similar correlations in Northern Africa and Turkey, showing the same convergence in intensity. Someone decided to point a military grade satellite at the area around Venice for a few nights, and they saw something. An unidentified flying object - and the second any of you mention aliens I will personally shoot you - between eight and nine feet in length with an approximately equal wingspan. The shape and aerodynamics roughly match those of a bat, so a bunch of scientists went to investigate the area where it landed. They disappeared.

Interpol thought it best not to mention that and cause public panic, and sent a team after them. They disappeared. So the Italian military sent a military force after them, followed by one from the European Union, followed by a special forces team from the US military. That team at least managed to get a communication out. Our offices picked it up, as did anyone else monitoring the frequency they were using, but the message was garbled beyond interpretation. All communication was cut thereafter. That was just three days ago.

No one else wants to go near the island, and that's why we're sending you men in. Your going to take a scenic trip down to Poveglia Island. Whatever is happening there, you go in and fix it."

And with that, Colton left, quickly being replaced at the podium by Courage.

"All right men, most of you have probably never heard of Poveglia Island, and I woudn't blame you. Its five kilometers south of Venice, and just over half a kilometer west of Malamocco on the coastal due bar surrounding the lagoon. Questions at the end Airtight. Its not exactly a vacation spot. The island got its scary start when the Romans, being the kind, gentle souls they were, decided the best thing for society was to round up all the plague victims of the era, and stick them somewhere. During the Bubonic plague the island was reinstated and when the plague got worse, they lowered Poveglia's requirements to anybody with any sign of sickness at all. Then they decided that rather than letting the plague run its course, and risk any victim surviving or escaping,they decided that the best thing to do was throw them in a large pit atop the already-dead bodies and set them on fire. Most estimates put the death toll between 160,000 and 200,000 and charred bones still wash up on shore.

The island was home to a small community until it was abandoned around 1380, during the War of Chioggia between Venice and Genoa. A mental hospital was built on the island in 1922. Local lore suggests that one mental health doctor tortured and killed many of the patients, before being thrown to his death from a bell tower. Of course, the legend also states that he survived the fall, but was, ahem, strangled by a mist that came up from the ground. Of course, the island is now said to be haunted. If you see the headless horseman, please take a picture. Those are the ruins you see on the island. At the turn of the century, the island was used for vineyard farming, and closed to tourists. After a few incidents of vandalism, and a couple murders in 2018, the vineyards were abandoned and tourism is still not permitted

Real fun place. Most of the open pits were covered in the last couple centuries, but a few remain."

Courage pressed a button on the podium and a satellite image of the Bay of Venice appeared on the screen behind him with a red circle around Poveglia Island. The magnification increased, revealing the details of the island and its buildings. The Island was actually three smaller landmasses connected with bridges: an octagonal building sat at the southern point, either entirely covering a circular island, or built on stilts like Venice, a central, square-ish island on which a series of ancient stone buildings dominated the left half, and an third at the north end that arched along buffering the entire north coast of the central island. It was the third island which Courage focused on, "As you can see, there are a small series of freshly excavated pits here, almost exactly where they were in antiquity, in fact, you can see the old bones beneath some of the fresher corpses."

Courage directed his laser pointer at one of the pits, "here you can see the bodies of some of the special forces troopers. Their uniforms are still there, but their gear has all been removed. Satellites don't show it anywhere on the island, but we know it must be there somewhere as no boat has come or gone since they arrived."

Falcon felt a bit of bile rise as he took in the injuries suffered by the troopers and the police who could be seen beneath them. Many had had their throats slit, or been decapitated, but others had been completely eviscerated, lost limbs, or been castrated. Most had several injuries to different parts of their body, all looking like they were done with a simple, but very large, blade. That certainly explained why Snake Eyes and the three medics were there.

"What's more unnerving than the injuries your seeing," continued Courage, "is that there are ten people unaccounted for in the graves, two from each of the scientific group, interpol force, local and European militarys and special operations teams that went aground. Your secondary mission is to try and find them and get them off the island to safety. But most importantly you guys are going to be figuring out who or what is causing this. Now, I'm reticent to use the word 'vampire', but based on further satellite coverage, and some long-range photographs by the Italian military, we've got something roughly man-sized with wings.

The Experimental Weapons Division informs me it is possible to build a flight pack like our Stealth JUMP packs and attach working wings to give the impression of bat-like flight without noticeable exhaust plumes. We believe that's what we're dealing with, but we don't know. The records Mercer brought with him from Cobra indicate that similar packs, minus the wings, were in development somewhere in Asia, so we know that conflict with them is a possibility, especially given their recent activity in Rome. I realize this is a large strike force for a single mission, but because of the number of people who have died on the island, and because of the age and size of the complex, we feel that it is necessary. Any smaller force could be avoided and prevent a quick resolution. Suitcase?"

Somehow Falcon had missed the lawyer's entrance, but he now moved from the edge of the room to the center of the stage.

"Good afternoon. Because the Italian government has requested intervention from the UN, I do not require you to fill out the usual mission forms. You are there on official business and will have full support from the Italian military, and will refer to yourselves as UN Special Task Force One for all official correspondence outside of the team. As your usual cover, an equal number of members from UN Special Task Force Omega has been flown out from England this afternoon, and your arrival will be undetected. The usual precautions apply to prevent contact between your two forces. They will be housed in Venice until your extraction and then switch places with you for the extraction. Other than three members of the Italian military who report directly to the President, the exchange will work as usual.

All greenshirts who have not participated in previous missions must remain after this briefing for further instructions on how to proceed with your cover. Thank you."

"Thank you suitcase. Further details including maps of the islands, and what we know of the buildings will be given to you on your way out. Sure Fire will be in charge of the operation with Shockwave, Falcon and Slaughter each in charge of a smaller team. One medic will be assigned to each team at your discretion. Your team will also be joined by Rex as your science officer. He has been briefed separately and is already in Europe to give a lecture series allowing him to meet you in Venice before you begin your operation. Any questions?"

Airtight's hand went up first, "Sir, two questions. First, if this island is in the middle of Venice Bay and less than a half kilometer from an inhabited area, how is this a covert operation? Let alone when there are vineyards there? Secondly, and along the same lines, how could this person with the jet pack have lived there without anyone having noticed him even with the vineyards closed?"

"To answer your first question, all the drops on the island have been done on the far side when no other boats were in view. Your drop will be under the cover of darkness, and don't worry about being seen. The half kilometer is more than enough for you to go unnoticed by anyone who's not using binoculars, and most of the local residents have other things to worry about. As for how this person has been living there, I really have no idea. If you find out while your there let me know.

Anyone else? No? Good. Rapid Fire, Falcon, Lifeline wants to see you two in the med center. Dismissed"

Falcon glanced left at Rapid Fire who appeared equally confused and shrugged as he rose from his seat, "somethings up."

"No kidding, lets find out what's going on."

The two men made their way out of the room through the front door into the command hallways. The enlisted men didn't realize it, but a second set of corridors ran through several levels of The Rock through which officers could move to go about their business more quickly during emergencies. They had been built by the original owners to allow the CIA and Canada's CSIS to keep an eye on the NORAD operatives who were supposed to be housed in the base during the Cold War, but the base had never been used, and when the Joes had moved in, there was no way to modify the two systems into one without compromising the stability of much of the construction, so it had fallen into use as extra office space and storage. The armories were located in a similar stretch of corridor a few floors down.

A lift car was waiting down the hall, and Falcon hit the button for the twelfth level, "here's a question, why would Lifeline want to meet with us separately, rather than come in for the briefing? And why us and not his medical team?"

"That's been bugging me too. I have a feeling its something he doesn't want the non-coms to know, but the fact he's not letting Shock in on it is odd as well." Rapid Fire shrugged, "We'll see."

The lift door opened, and the two men headed into the large med bay. Off to the left the door to the kennel was closed, but through the glass they could see Link and Shipwreck fighting with Polly who was putting up quite a struggle.

"Fixed the soundproofing I see," Rapid Fire commented dryly. "Hey, Lifeline, you here?"

A hand jutted out and waved from one of the nearby bays, beckoning them over. Lifeline was leaning over a laptop perched on Mainframe's bedside.

"Hey Frame. Working in the hospital? I would have thought the doctor would order you some downtime to recuperate?"

"Trust me Falcon, when you see what I'm working on, you'll understand."

"Real spooky stuff then eh? But seriously, how are you?"

"Not too bad considering. At least I got out of Indonesia, there were a lot of good men who didn't."

Silence fell in the room. Indonesia had been one heck of an op gone wrong. Most of the team had wound up dead, and Mainframe had only barely made it out in a fireman's carry over Stalker's shoulder. Those two were the only ones who boarded the flight home. Fistfight, Arctic Blast, Camper, Gunslinger, Shockblast and Razor would all be missed; Duke, not so much. Still, it was a tragedy when anyone didn't make it home, no matter if you liked them or not. But there was no changing that now. Dead was dead.

"All right you two, I only have a few minutes," Lifeline broke the silence, "and this is rather important to you."

Gesturing for them to follow him, Lifeline led them down through the med bay and through a door neither recognized. "I've asked you here to show you two things. Well, when I told Courage to send you up, it was only one, but its two now. Firstly, I assume you've seen the satellite images of Poveglia? Good. Well, no doubt you saw the injuries to the corpses."

A small part of Falcon wondered how a doctor could be so cold when talking about a dead person.

"I was looking at them, trying to figure out what caused the injuries, and I couldn't place a weapon, so I decided to take some practice swings at some of the medical dummies my company produces. We generally ship them out to med schools, hospitals and the like as training pieces for surgeries and such. But because of their close resemblance to the physical characteristics of human anatomy, and their accuracy of response, they also provide a very useful simulator for wound damage. Now, the skin on them is a bit tougher than human skin, but we made it a bit thinner, so it kind of matches what you'd see in real life. Its better with the internal organ mock-ups.

On the wall here, you can see the injuries from our satellite shots, and here are a series of 8 dummies suffering various wounds. You'll notice the first seven don't match very well, but the eighth comes fairly close to the injuries sustained by the individual in the center of this pit. For the first five I tried standard weapons around the base: I took a bonesaw, and the like to the first, had Rock and Roll machine gun the second, had Inferno take a fire ax to the third, took combat knives to the fourth, and let Snake Eyes have a go at the fifth.

At this point, you'll notice a few similarities appear, but the blade strokes are wrong. I tried having Snake Eyes do it with his off hand on the sixth, and then tried something different with the seventh. I'd noticed on the fifth that the strokes were too long, and though they pointed in the right direction appeared to have started with the tip of the blade rather than the edge, so on number seven, I had Snake hold the blade in the reverse of the normal position, with the blade tip pointed downwards when his hand was held forward. As you can see, its getting closer. For try number eight, I got him to let me tie the blade to his forearm, with the tip pointed back behind his elbow and go at it again. As you can see, the wounds from number eight almost exactly match those on the body. There are some differences which I attribute to another weapon, different positioning of the attacker and victim and a much taller attacker.

So that means your dealing with someone who is quite tall. The wounds suggest in excess of eight feet, which I would have though was impossible, but appears to be the case based on the images captured of that person flying on the winged jet pack. Which brings me to my second commentary. Actually, its not mine, Carl was the first to notice it."

Lifeline continued talking as they returned to where Mainframe lay in bed, his leg still supported in a stirrup, "I'd left some of the footage of the person's flight playing on my computer when I went to deal with something else, and it caught Carl's eye as he was passing, and he picked up on something I didn't. The position of the flyer, and the aerodynamics of the flight don't match that of a jet pack user. Now, you probably know he was the medical consultant when the US finally developed the first military jet pack, so he knows the flight mechanics of the body better than anyone else. Now, I won't go into the details of it, but based on the jerking of the body, arm movements, and leg positioning during the flight, the man couldn't have been wearing a jetpack. His legs would have been scorched by propellant if he was using a chemically powered one, or blown down if he was using a scramjet version. Also, the repetitive jerking up and down of his body with each wing beat indicates that the wings are responsible for the flight. Since Mainframe was in anyway, I let him loose on the footage to see if the two of them could come up with something."

Falcon and Rapid Fire perched on chairs beside Mainframe's bed where they had a view of the laptop.

"Quite simply," explained Mainframe, "I took the images from the satellite capture of the flight and tried to model the shape of the person your looking at. I found a few things that were interesting. Firstly," he enlarged the point where the two wings joined in the middle of the person's back, "there is no space between these and the body to fit a jetpack. As you can see, they sit on a small bulge rising from the back only a few inches above the back. Now, given the wingspan, and modern science, its probably not impossible to have designed a backpack with wings that would allow for flight. I've never heard of anyone even coming close to getting something like that to work, but obviously its possible. What is unusual though is the motion with the wings. Watch the shoulders, you'll see that they drop down briefly before coming back up after each wing beat. Same with the hips. What's strange about that is that it indicates that the wings are not worn using conventional harneses. It seems almost as if they are attached directly to the spine, which is impossible."

"So what are you saying," Falcon found the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them, "this is actually a vampire? You've been here a bit too long Frame."

"No, I'm not saying that, I'm just saying your dealing with something very freaking weird."

"Lovely."

"Thanks Frame," Lifeline interrupted, "get some rest. Come along you two."

Lifeline ushered them towards the door, and once they were out of Mainframe's hearing, he halted them, "guys, I have no idea what your getting into, but a lot of very competent people died on that island, and there's something very, very weird about whoever this nutjob is. Keep your eyes open."

Falcon was almost out the door with Rapid Fire when Lifeline decided to add something else, "oh, and don't let this distract you, but all of the victims have massive bite marks on their necks."

-

_04/18/2034: 1900h - Motor Launch - Approaching Poveglia Island_

Falcon peered through a pair of binoculars towards Poveglia island trying to get a feel for the land before night fell and the strike team landed; there was only so much a person could glean from satellite images, and second-hand photographs. Dart appeared to agree, as he lay prone on top of the wheelhouse staring through what looked like an enlarged sniper scope at the distant island.

"You see anything," Falcon decided to verify his own lack of observations.

"Old buildings, trees, a couple bones on the beach. Nothing regarding our mission. Though there does appear to be a storm rolling in from the east."

Falcon nodded, he'd noticed the storm also, probably because of the wind whipping the breakers around them. At the edge of the bay, he'd already seen the barriers raise above the water level to prevent the rising sea levels from inundating the Lagoon. The pneumatic steal barriers could protect against up to a twenty foot rise in water levels without allowing any rise in the level in the lagoon. One worry that did play on Falcon's mind was that the storm would reduce visibility on the island to nearly zero, making a proper search almost impossible, meaning they would have to be on this tiny spit of land far longer than he would have liked. On the bright side, the weather also meant that anyone in Malamocco who happened to glance towards the island would be completely unable to see the island, let alone the Joes going about their business on it.

A few more minutes of bumping across the water, and the two boats drew into the small divide between the central island and the southern octagonal stone landing. Even this close, Falcon couldn't tell whether it was artificially constructed, or just covering a pre-existing island. But the stone ramparts rose five feet out of the water leading to a flat topped area that looked like it may once have been covered by a roof that had long since collapsed.

Freight jumped out of the second boat, and clambered up the side of the artificial pier, turning to stabilize the ladders from each boat and help the rest of the team up. Somehow, by the time Falcon made it up the ladder a handful of seconds later, Snake Eyes was already over by the bridge to the middle island peering up at the buildings there. Falcon shook his head and offered a hand to Sparta as she climbed the last couple rungs of the ladder.

Once the entire team was aground, the two boats pulled in their ladders and headed back out into the lagoon where they would wait until the team radioed for pickup. Rapid Fire took charge immediately. All right guys, we're going to split into three search teams, team one will come with me, and search the south buildings, team two will go with Falcon to search the north buildings, and team three will go with Slaughter to check the eastern side of the island. We'll meet at the bridge to the north island as soon as everyone's done. There aren't many places to hide here, we'll find this nutcase. Take him alive if you can, but our safety and those of the people we hope to rescue takes priority."

"Shockwave, Widescope, Airtight, Barricade, Stretcher, Harpoon, Freight and you six," Rapid Fire pointed to one group of greenshirts, "are team one with me. Dart, Rex, Sparta, Antenna, Med Alert, Sci-Fi and you seven are team two with Falcon. The rest of you are with Slaughter. Snake Eyes, I'm assuming your going to do your own thing anyway, so go, just stay in...where the hell did he go?"

-

_04/18/2034: 1915h - North Island of Poveglia Island_

Snake Eyes walked silently across the bridge linking to the northern island, noting that it was only a little over a hundred years old, making it the newest piece of construction by a good few centuries anywhere on the island. The first thing he'd decided to investigate were the bodies in the holes. Though the whole team was tasked with extraction and solving, his job was to figure out who was running this place and what they were doing. Most of the command staff believed it was one crazy individual, not the first one the team had had to deal with, but Hawk was fairly convinced that this had something to do with a Cobra bioweapons project that had been alluded to in the files that Mercer had brought with him. Apparently Lifeline had attempted to get more information from Chuckles about it, but all he'd managed to come up with was the name of the operation: Project Lunatrix. Locations and details were above his access level, whatever it was.

A quick glance around showed empty fields surrounding the pits with the bodies. A light tap by with a finger on the side of his visor overlayed the view with an infrared image. It came up just as blank as visual observation and Snake Eyes allowed himself to relax for a moment before he dropped in the central pit for a closer look at the bodies. Somewhat morbid walking around on centuries worth of dead bodies. Briefly Snake Eye's mind flashed back to one of his missions during the Chino-Korean War of the last decade when his small team had had to move through a recently abandoned battlefield in landed with his feet on either side of the torso of one of the US Special Forces team. Tens of thousands of recently dead had littered the ground, but most of them had still been recognizable. Here, beneath the fresh corpses were the decayed bones of plague victims that had been buried for centuries, the marks of burning still evident on many, and the stench of decay nauseous even with burned tissue of his nasal passages. An Arashikage breathing technique reduced the smell to merely unpleasant.

A quick search revealed that everything other than the simple uniform had been removed, just as with everyone else in the pit. Whoever this guy was, he now had one heck of an armory sitting somewhere on the island. Presuming of course that it was just one individual and not more than that. Tapping the top edge of the right side of his visor captured quick images of the faces of each victim. A flurry of taps on the keypad at his wrist and the image set fired off 20,000 feet overhead to where Ghostrider was circling to forward them to the PIT for positive identification. He backflipped out of the hole and repeated the procedure in each of the flanking pits. Those bodies also carried nothing in the way of identification or weaponry, though as Lifeline had indicated, each one had a large bite mark on the neck. On a couple, the bite had torn out the trachea which would have resulted in nearly instantaneous death, on others, it overlapped and had snapped the spine, while on the rest, it appeared purely superficial on the side of the neck.

Not being a doctor, Snake Eyes had to admit, he didn't understand the reason for the wounds, especially given the variety of other injuries suffered by the victims which would have been more than adequate to kill them, but what interested him more was the state of dessication around the wounds. A black green twinge affected the skin surrounding the wounds, but no blood stained the surrounding area, unlike every other wound on the bodies. Snake Eyes quickly snapped a few more images and sent them of before backflipping out of the pit and back onto level ground.

The immediate area was still empty, but a brief ripple of movement in a group of trees slightly to the north caught his attention. Nothing showed on an infrared scan, but something more than the wind had caused it.

-

_04/18/2034: 1930h - East side of Poveglia Island_

Blowtorch muttered to himself as he worked another branch out of the joint between his chest armor and torso. The rest of the team was a half dozen meters ahead, slowly spreading through the trees that covered most of the main island. The buildings themselves were practically burried in them, while the eastern edge of the island was completely covered with them. Finally, he managed to work his armor free from the clawing tree and hurried to catch up. Taurus and Red Dog were arguing quietly about something off to the left, but Triage was bent over something and Blowtorch joined him. The medic pointed silently at a depression in the ground; it was roughly the shape of a foot, but far larger than anything Blowtorch had ever seen, and with a very pointed toe. It definitely wasn't a foot print, but perhaps an indentation made by an unusual shoe.

Blowtorch was about to wave Slaughter over when something barrelled out of the bush knocking him over, Triage reacted instantly, throwing his back against a tree and firing off a shot from a pistol before Blowtorch had even hit the ground. The commotion quickly drew the attention of the rest of the team, the greenshirts converging blindly on the area, while Red Dog and Taurus tried to get a clean shot at the attacker. After a few seconds, the cause of the commotion was clear, a very large black dog had gripped onto the throat of one of the greenshirts and hauled him to the ground. The man was beating at the animal furiously with his hands, but despite the man's attempt and the blood poring from the wound Triage's bullet had inflicted the dog held on. The struggle ended as suddenly as it had began as the dog tore a gaping hole in the troopers's throat before succumbing to another pair of shots from Red Dog and Taurus who finally brought it down. Triage hurried over to the man's side, but he was already dead.

"He's gone Sir."

Slaughter sighed, "bag him, and you two," he indicated two other greenshirts, "find a place near the buildings and put him under some protection. We'll take him out with us."

The two troopers moved to help Triage with the body bag.

"Damn. Rapid Fire isn't going to be happy that I lost one of my men on this milk run."

"Sir," interrupted Taurus, "this is a cobra mutt. Night Adder's."

"That cooks it. We finish searching these woods, then we meet up with the other teams at the buildings. Something's up here."

Just then a scream sounded from the direction of the buildings.

-

_04/18/2034: 1925h - Building 5, Poveglia Island_

Falcon and his team walked cautiously through the door into the southern most building on Poveglia. It sat on a Southwest-Northeast angle, and was just under a hundred meters in length along that axis and slightly over ten meters in width, with a second story on the more northerly half terminating with the island's bell tower. Darkness was falling outside, and inside the building was practically pitch dark.

"Dart, you take Rex, Sparta and these three with you. Antenna, Med Alert and you four, come with me."

Part of Falcon felt guilty for not yet having learned the names of all the greenshirts who were, temporarily, under his command. He made a mental note to be more involved with them for the rest of the mission.

"Robinson," he hoped that actually was the man's name, "take point; we're going to check upstairs."

"Yes sir!"

Ah good, Falcon thought, that had been the right name, allowing himself a small look of satisfaction as they climbed the stairs. The smile disappeared as they reached the top. Three large black dogs lay in the hallway. Or rather, their bodies did, their heads having been removed and now lined up on the third shelf of an ancient bookcase beside a doorway to another room. The top two shelves were occupied by sixteen severed human heads. Behind him, someone retched, and Falcon couldn't really blame whoever it was as he fought to keep down his own bile. Each head wore an expression of terror, and dried blood stained the shelves and congealed in a pool on the floor.

"Well," Med Alert commented dryly, "I'd say they're dead. Want me to check for pulses sir?"

Falcon shot him a withering look, "see if you can't identify them. If not, command will still want the pictures. Devonowski," he pointed to the young woman who stood behind Med Alert, "give him any assistance he needs."

"Yes sir."

"The rest of you fan out and start checking rooms."

Sparta and Rex headed into the office next door, while the other three greenshirts headed down the hall, eventually disappearing three doors down.

"Sir, a word?" Antenna asked gesturing back into the stairwell.

Falcon followed, and raised an eyebrow once they were out of ear-shot of the rest of the team.

"I recognize one of those heads. Dr. Robert Nurse. He worked at...what?"

"Sorry," Falcon apologized trying to stop himself from from chuckling, "but I never thought I'd hear the name Doctor Nurse. That's just amusing."

"Sure. Anyway, he worked MIT as a geneticist. I know that because he was dating my cousin for a few months a couple years ago. He quit the campus suddenly about 20 months ago, moved out of the country, stopped answering e-mails; basically disappeared. She had no idea where he went."

"So, a missing geneticist turns up, minus his body, at an abandoned island, where we have rumors of a vampire. This day is getting better and better. Anything else?"

"On, nothing really important; his main project was artificial life."

Falcon turned and allowed his forehead to smack against the stonework of the wall, "great just great. Any other tidbits? Careful Med! We want those heads intact!"

The last followed a loud crashing sound from upstairs.

"No, that's abou-"

Antenna was cut off by a loud scream by Devonowski.

Both men were up the stairs, weapons drawn six seconds later, but that was too long. Med alert was lying on his side unconscious, his head bleeding profusely where it had smacked into the bookcase. Devonowski's body lay beside him, with a gaping wound slashed from waist to neck spilling organs and spurting blood. Behind her, five letters were written on the wall with her blood: LEAVE.

-

_04/18/2034: 2000h - The Rock - Special Operations Command Center 3_

Hawk paced the room behind the row of technicians, his frustration evident to everyone in the room, Lifeline was leaning over Datum's shoulder while Breaker and Uplink spoke quietly at another terminal.

"So, allow me to recap," Hawk snarled, "Two greenshirts are dead, Snake Eyes is missing, and Rapid Fire has no idea what's going on. That about it?"

Lifeline rolled his eyes, "you forgot that this is most likely a cobra installation."

Hawk cursed and resumed pacing.

"Oh would you calm down Clayton? Ghostrider can still keep the uplink with Snake open once he gets above ground again; we just have to wait for him to finish checking out whatever was in that underground cellar."

Hawk merely grumbled something unintelligible. The last thing they'd heard from Rapid Fire's team was the report of the dog and vampire attacks, after that the interference from the storm had started disrupting their satellite uplink, and their short-range radios didn't quite carry far enough to reach the nearest receptor the Joes could commandeer on land. What was worse was that in spite of the sea wall raised around the lagoon, the high winds were making it impossible for the local police boats to stay on the water around the island and relay messages. All that was left was the laser uplink between Snake Eyes' wrist communicator and Ghostrider's stealth jet, but Snake Eyes had disappeared about half an hour ago to investigate some underground building he'd found near the east coast of the northern island and hadn't reported in since. Hopefully everything was going well.

-

_04/18/2034: 2000h - Underground Bunker; North Island of Poveglia Island_

Everything was very far from fine. Snake Eyes had followed the movement he'd spotted earlier into a copse of trees on the north side of the island, eventually determining that it had been caused by a small radio dish that was swinging disjointedly in the wind from a single wire after having been ripped off it pole sometime in the past.

After twenty or so minutes, he had tracked the buried cable from the dish to a pipe inset in the ground beneath another group of trees on the east side of the island. A bit of prodding in the immediate area had revealed a closed trapdoor hidden beneath a bit of artificial turf. The trapdoor wasn't locked, instead having been torn off its hinges some time recently and simply set back on top of the hole. Beneath, the shaft opened into a hallway with a ceiling about three feet under the ground. Water sloshed around his ankles as Snake Eyes had dropped into the hole. A series of pumps along the hallway worked furiously to drain the hall, but the water seepage from the lagoon was slowly winning the battle. Dim light showed a few feet ahead from a larger cavern which Snake Eyes approached cautiously, one hand on his holstered gloc, the other ready to go for his katana.

The hallway opened up into a large chamber. At the far side, a large pool of water sloshed, or rather, a pool of water that was deeper than the water in the rest of the chamber. It looked like there was an underwater entrance out into the lagoon, and tied up to the wall were a pair of mini-subs, explaining how the island had been supplied without anyone noticing.

A flash of movement off to the right caught Snake Eyes' attention almost too late. He dropped and rolled to his right, becoming quickly soaked in the water covering the floor, but his movement had allowed him to avoid the downwards stroke of a giant blade. Coming to his feet, Snake eyes got his first look at his attacker; the thing stood about six feet from him and was dressed head to toe in red armor blotched with white and blue. His head was encased in a helmet that looked like the face of an insect, complete with small antenna sticking out of each side of his head, blue flashing orbs where his eyes should have been, and a large snout. In his hands was a massive weapon that was somewhere between a sword and an axe with a massive head slowly sloping down to the handle and a sharp edge running along the front and top edges. Based on the dent gouged in the floor where Snake Eyes had stood a moment before, it had to weight at least a couple dozen pounds, and yet this person was swinging it about his head as though it were a tennis racket.

The person charged, screaming unintelligibly with the axe swinging towards Snake Eyes' head. He dodged again, drawing his katana and delivering a sharp riposte to the attacker's back. Instead the tip of the blade skipped off the armored plates on the back, and seemed instead to simply enrage his opponent more. The blade scythed through the air, clanging loudly as it met the edge of the Katana. His opponent rolled away, readying for another overhand strike. Snake Eyes waited patiently until his opponent was in full motion charging for him, then quickly sidestepped to the left and hammered his blade towards the man's exposed neck beneath the back of his helmet. His opponent threw his shoulder up, blocking the strike and preventing his own decapitation.

Mentally, Snake Eyes cursed, this guy was almost as fast as the Hard Master had once been. Another swipe from his opponents blade carved the air a few inches in front of Snake Eyes, exposing a hole in his defences into which Snake Eyes charged, blade leveled ready to end the match in a single stroke. Instead the armored man brought his pointed boot up hard between Snake Eye's legs. Even with a back flip, the breath flew from his lungs, and Snake Eyes gasped with the pain; barely able to fall unceremoniously to the left as his opponent made to skewer him. He landed hard on his right hip, a sharp object digging into his flesh while the katana was knocked from his hand by the force of hitting the water surface. Another stroke of the axe would have taken his head off had he not moved when he did, but as he dodged away his hand pulled the obstruction from his right hip. As he came to his knee, he fired twice towards his opponent's chest; the obstruction that had dug into his hip was an experimental AA11 provided by the experimental weapons division back at the pit. It used a small battery to charge a solenoid that repulsed semi-magnetized armor piercing rounds out the barrel at high speeds for anti-armor, anti-personnel use. The lack of chemical repellent reduced the kickback until it was hardly noticeable more than a slight jolt as the solenoid activated, similarly, and completely eliminated the traditional crack of a firearm, making it a perfect weapon for covert operations.

The attacker appeared to jump backwards, the two shots having taken him off his feet; the axe splashed into the waves a few feet away from the body collapsing to the floor. Snake Eyes picked himself up and retrieved his Katana before walking over to the body to ensure it was dead. Reaching down, he grabbed hold of the bottom of the helmet, preparing to drive a knife into the subject's trachea, but stopped; the man was wheezing something with his dying breaths,

"Was...once...a...man. Was once a MAN!"

The last word was expressed with what little strength remained in the man's body before he went limp in Snake Eyes's hand.

-

_04/18/2034: 2110h - Building 5, Poveglia Island_

Med Alert leaned against the wall in one of the rooms off the second floor hallway. Other than superficial head wounds from where the vampire, Falcon paused to correct himself, the man who _dressed like a vampire_, had smashed the medic's head against the wall when he flew in the window. As nearly as they could figure, Devonowski had been bent down looking at the three dog's bodies with her back to the window when the man had climbed in and knocked Med Alert into the wall. She must have thought he'd tripped, and turned, only then realizing that they were not alone. By the time she had screamed, the man had already carved the gaping wound into her chest. What no one had figured out was how he had managed to write the word on the wall and get out the window in the few seconds it had taken the rest of the team to react. Sparta had just managed to get a glance of the feet of someone diving out the window as she came out of the room she was searching, and Falcon had arrived only a second later. That left the apparition only 5 seconds to have written those words, and no one could possibly move that fast. Could they?

Falcon shook his head. The island was getting to him and he wasn't thinking rationally. Probably the collection of heads, he reflected, he'd never been comfortable with dismemberment. Rapid Fire wasn't happy, both his and Slaughter's teams had also lost a greenshirt; Slaughter's to one of Night Adder's dogs that had still been lose on the island, and Rapid Fire's by a man falling into a pit filled with sharpened spikes as they hurried to back up Falcon's team after Devonowski's piercing scream. Again, no one was quite sure why there was a pit with spikes around, but they were and they'd cost them another member of the team. Slaughter's team had gone down to check the main floor while parts of Falcon's and Rapid Fire's searched the second. Antenna was trying to get a signal up on the bell tower, guarded by a greenshirt, Triage and Stretcher were bagging the severed heads, and Rex and Airtight were off fiddling with something in another room that Falcon figured he really didn't want to know about.

The sound of a door opening on the main floor carried up the stairs followed by a heavy tread of someone approaching. Sci-fi took position at the top of the stairs; the whole team was already inside, not counting Snake Eyes, and if it was him, they'd have never known he was coming. Preparing for the worst, Falcon leveled his shotgun down the stairs just as Snake Eyes came around the corner. The reason for the noise of his entrance was immediately evident. Over one shoulder he carried a man in huge red body armor, and in the other, he carried a giant axe, not his, obviously from the corpse.

"Well," Rapid Fire said, coming up behind Falcon, "looks like the island's mystery has already been solved. Why didn't we just send the ninja to start with?"

Snake Eyes unceremoniously dropped the body at the top of the stairs, and then shook his head. He typed a brief message on his wrist communicator then showed it to Rapid Fire. Falcon leaned over to get a look at it. It read: Not the vampire - there is another.

Falcon and Rapid Fire looked at one another.

"Lovely."

-

_04/18/2034: 2130h - Clearing, Poveglia Island_

Red Dog gave one final heave on the rope as he and Taurus hauled the body of Greenshirt Phillips out of the pit. Spikes still protruded from his body in several places where they remained embedded from his fall. Despite his history of violence, and the missions he'd undertaken in the middle east, the contortion and bleeding was still quite ghastly. Triage and Harpoon carefully removed the stakes and slid the body into a body bag.

"Is there any reason we're keeping the stakes Triage?" Slaughter asked.

"Autopsy."

"I think we all know how he died."

"I know, but the brass still requires the procedures be followed. Yes, its a pain in the ass, but what can you do," Triage shook his head.

"Alright. Harpoon, Rollinson, you guys take this back to the main building and report to Falcon. The rest of us will finish up here and put a proper cover on the pit so no one else gets themselves killed here."

"Got it," confirmed Harpoon, taking hold of the handles at the head of the body bag.

Watching them go, Red Dog observed the Greenshirts still around the pit looked terrified. He couldn't blame them. Turned out that most of them were on their first mission out of The Rock. And to have already lost three of their number to accidents wouldn't be sitting well with them. Admittedly, he was kinda weirded out also. Other than the mess in Indonesia, no single mission had cost the joes more than three troops in total, and to have three down in the first few hours on a tiny island was disturbing. At least none of Alpha Regiment, the Joes who had earned code names, were dead yet, he was pretty sure that that alone would have dissolved what little morale the greenshirts had left.

-

_04/18/2034: 2140h - Outside Building 5, Poveglia Island_

"Alright, put it down here," Harpoon ordered. Each man lowered his end of the body bag to the ground next to the two others they'd be taking out. Twenty years of military service stood behind Harpoon, and this ranked as the most nut-job mission he'd ever been on. At least Devonowski had bitten it taking on the enemy, but the other two were dead from freak accidents. It was incomprehensible.

"Well Rollinson, we'd better get ourselves inside before..."

Harpoon trailed off as he turned, his jaw dropping, "GET DOWN!"

Behind Rollinson stood eight feet of nightmare. Until about half a second ago, Harpoon had dismissed all the vampire reports as pure insanity, but he had just been proved wrong. The _thing, _for there was no better word for it, had massive grey wings tucked behind it, beneath which writhed an octet of green tentacles. It was sheathed from head to toe in crimson plating that looked like it was an outgrowth of the body, only his arms and fave visible. The arms bulged with muscles and veins, and from the forearms extruded massive blades of bone that broke through the skin. The right one was still soaked with blood, doubtless Devonowski's. The face wore an expression of utter malice and a grin that exposed serrated teeth that would have terrorized a shark.

Rollinson tried to get out of the way, but was too slow. A single stroke by the left arm decapitated the greenshirt while he was still fumbling to bring a rifle to bare.

Harpoon snatched a grenade off his belt. He knew he wouldn't survive a hand to hand encounter with the vampire, but he doubted even it could take a grenade. The grin was wiped from his face as the vampire caught the grenade in mid-air, and allowed it to explode in his hand. Blood trickled from a few small wounds in its hand, but the rest of its body was untouched.

It took only a split second for the thing to cross the intervening distance between them. Harpoon managed to duck the swipe of the arm blades, but gasped for air as the creature drove its knee into his stomach. For a minute Harpoon didn't understand why his stomach felt wet, then he remembered the bone spurs on the creature's kneecap. He opened his mouth to scream, but couldn't draw breath. Above him he could hear Sci-fi yelling from a window. Dimly he watched the laser trooper's shots as they deflected off the creature's wing as the creature took hold of him by the face and lifted him from the ground. Its nails dug holes into his face, but Harpoon was beyond pain now. Yet, when the creature dug its teath into his neck he managed to scream, but was abruptly cut short as his throat was torn out.

Harpoon wished he could have seen Jenny just one last time.

-

_04/18/2034: 2230h - Main Floor, Main Building, Poveglia Island_

Antenna sat over in the corner of the room, trying desperately to raise the Rock, Med Alert was tending to Blowtorch's wounds, and Freight was pacing around the room. Falcon sighed, thinking about the events of an hour ago. He had witnessed the vampire rip out Harpoon's throat as a snack, while deflecting the blasts from Sci-fi's laser rifles with his wings. Slaughter's team coming back from the clearing had managed to surprise it as they returned, and Blowtorch had let loose with his flamethrower; that was the first thing that seemed to get to the creature. It had let loose an ear-splitting shriek before charging towards Blowtorch. Foolishly two greenshirts had stepped in front and opened fire. It had quickly become a heroic last stand. The vampire had grabbed each by the throat, and took to the air, using the bonespurs from his knees to rake Blowtorch's front as ittook off. The greenshirts had hung on, but been thrown to the ground from several hundred feet up, shattering their bodies. Falcon was fairly sure that if he got off this island, their terrified screams as they fell would haunt him for the rest of his life.

And right now, it was looking like a heck of an if. Eight members of the team was already dead, one more greenshirt having committed suicide out of terror not ten minutes ago. Triage and Stretcher were currently body-bagging him on the main floor, to lie with his other fallen comrades. No one needed to know how he died.

Freight was about to make another pass of the room, but Falcon interrupted him with a hand to his shoulder, "you all right man?"

"I'm just not sure what I'm going to say to Jenny," Freight shook his head.

"I'm don't think I can help you. She may have lost one of her parents, but at least she still has you."

Immediately Falcon knew that wouldn't help.

"I still remember when Jose and I adopted her, she was such a happy little girl. This is going to break her heart," Freight shook his head, and then walked away.

Rapid Fire appeared at Falcon's shoulder, "this is why most units don't allow relatives, let alone couples, to serve."

"This isn't exactly most units," Falcon countered.

"True, but you'd think they'd at least have the brains not to send them on the same mission." Rapid Fire closed his eyes for a second, "that isn't really fair is it. There was no way we could have known this would happen."

Falcon didn't respond, he had nothing to say. The only member of the team who wasn't obviously disturbed by the day's events was Snake Eyes, and who knew what he was thinking.

-

_04/18/2034: 2230h - Second Floor, Main Building, Poveglia Island_

Snake Eyes was bothered by the days events. Not because of the deaths of his fellow joes, he'd seen far worse during a variety of covert operations before, during and after the Chino-Korean War, but rather because of how the opponent he had faced in the underground bunker had reminded him of his old friend Thomas. If he wasn't dead, Snake Eyes would have sworn that he had taught the man how to fight with a sword. In hindsight, all his trademarks were there: the aggressive style, close-set stance, overhead strikes that opened slight defensive holes...

Memories surfaced of their days training together in the quad outside the Hard Master's Dojo, in those days before the attack, the days before Snake Eye's second family had been taken from him. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, and he blinked them away, quashing the memories. There was only the here and now. The past was past.

-

_04/18/2034: 2300h - Main Floor, Main Building, Poveglia Island_

"OK, so just what are we looking at Rex?" inquired Shockwave.

Falcon leaned over his shoulder staring at the laptop Rex was balancing on his knee.

"Quite simply," explained the scientist, "a whole new level of warfare. Obviously this person looks vaguely human, even with these armored plates all over his body, and there's a good reason for it, he is. Well, more accurately he was."

Confused as he was by this Falcon couldn't help notice the usually implacable Snake Eyes jerk backwards in surprise. What exactly had the man come across?

Rex was explaining, "once we drilled through the armor plates, which was no easy undertaking, we took a tissue sample and we came up with conflicting results. Airtight was the first to figure it out, and it made sense once Antenna told us what Dr. Nurse had done before winding up here on the island. There are two tissue types. Most of the body is a human being, from Mongolia if I'm not mistaken, the other is some combination of other species. The armor plates are similar in composition to the chitin of a cockroach, mixed with the shell of a turtle, and a half-dozen other species. Its not as strong as true armor plating, but it will stand up to most small-arms fire, and apparently Snake Eyes' katana. There's probably a lot more going on with the rest of it, but without proper facilities, that's the best I can give you."

"How can you pinpoint the body, er, sorry, the test subject is from Mongolia?" asked Rapid Fire, "I remember Steen and Greer made a huge splash in the media a few years ago with that study that showed negligible differences between the genomes of different racial groups."

"Quite right, they are pretty minimal. That said, males in Mongolia, and a lot of Asia are a bit different in one regard, their Y-chromosomes. Remember that a few thousand years ago almost all of Asia was ruled by Ghengis Kahn and his descendants. Well, they were quite... er... a prolific family. Their harem was huge and scattered throughout the empire and they had a _lot _of offspring, and because they were Kahn's offspring, they were favored for survival. To this day, about eight percent of the men in the area of the former Mongol Empire have this Y-chromosome. Or, probably his. But suffice to say, that its a farily distinct marker."

"And you recognized this in a couple hours?" Falcon asked with some incredulity.

Rex shrugged, "part of the topic of my Masters thesis."

"So, to summarize, we've got a Cobra run think tank, made up of some of the world's top scientists in genetics and artificial life, making supersoldiers by screwing with their genomes, with patients from somewhere in Asia. Oh, and there's still a fucking _vampire_ out there that wants to kill us," Rapid Fire said in frustration.

Falcon couldn't help but notice how everyone was now referring to the thing as a vampire, he hadn't been convinced when he saw it, and now he was even less so.

"Well, I think the vampire is another one of their projects," Rex explained. "Given what they've managed here, it wouldn;t be beyond them to genetically engineer the component parts required for that."

"Lovely, so its a Cobra-run vampire that wants to kill us. Makes me feel so much better."

-

_04/19/2034: 0300h - Second Floor, Main Building, Poveglia Island_

Most of the team lay sleeping in a few rooms on the second floor, out of the blinding rain and waves that now lashed their island prison, but Blowtorch and Heavy Duty stood watch. At least officially they did, Snake Eyes was wide awake in a corner by the window, and a couple nervous greenshirts were playing poker in the corner. One of their friends had stepped out to relieve himself a few hours ago, and he hadn't come back. It was fairly clear he wouldn't be.

If they found him, the medics would be out of body bags once they dealt with him. Blowtorch leaned down into the stairwell to check that the flare there was still going; it was. The flares had been Dart's idea as it appeared that the only thing the vampire was afraid of was light, and thus far they had remained safe. At least for now.

-

_04/19/2034: 0300h - Outside, Poveglia Island_

Lights burned in the windows and doorways between him and his prey, but it didn't matter, they would be dead soon. For now he had his stores to feed from. They would die soon.

A final pull on the legs of the last victim showed that he was secured to the tree. A bloody grin of satisfaction came to the creature's lips and he strode off towards his subterranean abode.

-

_04/19/2034: 0600h - Outside, Poveglia Island_

Another rope dropped from the tree, and Snake Eyes scuttled over another few branches to move onto the next one. Widescope, had found the missing greenshirt shortly after dawn, or at least what had passed for dawn during this storm, suspended from a tree. Then again, to simply say that he'd been suspended from a tree didn't even come close to describing the horror of the sight; hell, even after everything he'd seen in Asia, he'd lost what little he'd managed to get in his stomach for breakfast. Other than the three medics, the rest of the team had remained inside, unwilling or unable to face the horror outside. At least the rain had washed the worst of the blood away.

Suspended from the tree was a message, _Leave or die_, written with the body of the greenshirt. His body, minus the head and arms, had been suspended with rope in the shape of an L, his intestines pulled out and twisted into the shapes of an e and an a, one arm crooked to form a v, mor intestines in the shape of an e, the OR carved into the flesh of his extracted lungs, the d made from the other arm with the liver clutched in the hand, the i formed with the man's torn out spine and severed head, and the final e made from, well, Snake Eyes wasn't entirely sure, but it looked like blood vessels of some sort. The entire ghastly array faced the door, and would no doubt have been dripping blood had it been a few hours earlier or had it not been raining as heavily as it was.

Another slice with the trench-knife cut down the final e, which was caught by Triage then passed off to Stretcher, who along with Med Alert were carefully removing the ropes before carefully laying them in the bodybag with their owner.

Snake Eyes landed in a crouch, his eyes surveying the surrounding territory, despite half a dozen fellow joes leaning out of upstairs windows, weapons at the ready. Things were getting out of hand quickly, and even his laser-link with Ghostrider was now lost. The team was now completely alone.

-

_04/19/2034: 0630h - 40,000 Feet Over Greek Peninsula  
_  
Ghostrider stared out the cockpit at the stratotanker from which an umbilical extended and plugged into a slot off towards the starboard wing. He sighed. Just over three hours ago he'd had to break station in order to meet up with the stratotanker to keep aloft, if he'd waited until the tanker reached his position, he'd have had to ditch out; as it was, he'd had less than 1% fuel remaining when he'd docked. He stretched, roomy though the cockpit of the Phantom X-10 was, sitting in it for hours on end was not entirely comfortable. Much to his annoyance, the radio crackled with a voice from the tanker.

"Hey buddy!" erupted the cheerful voice of Ghostwing, the Joe team's other stealth pilot. "How are you? Colton just had me hop on over here to keep you in the air. We've got two newbies, Wingshot and North Wind, in the back working the tank to keep you in the air."

Sighing Ghostrider thumbed the transmit switch "I see Colton finally stole a stratotanker."

"Actually, Lifeline's at fault on this one again."

Raising an eyebrow Ghostrider asked, "Who'd he blackmail?"

"Iron Butt Auston, from the Pentagon."

"Huh." Ghostrider turned serious, "do Wingshot or North Wind know where they are?"

"No, they don't know where they are, or who we are. They just know how much fuel your using. They've been locked in the back since we took off."

"Good."

"Your overly paranoid my friend."

"I know."

"You also don't say much."

"I know."

"Your also kind of creepy."

"I know."

-

_04/19/2034: 0830h - Main Building, Poveglia Island_

In theory, Falcon reflected, the sun should have been up by now. Not that anyone would ever be able to tell through the pitch black sky. Rain lashed the island, and trees bent under the wind. The team had hauled the body bags into the building and lined them in a corridor to keep them out of the rain, and had clustered themselves in what had once been the office of the late Dr. Nurse, one of Cobra's prisoners or assistants on the island. It was unclear whether Nurse had been a willing participant in the scheme, or if he had been held against his will, but the difference was effectively irrelevant at this point, the man was dead and his work had helped develop what appeared to be some form of super-soldiers in the service of the Cobra organization.

Antenna was working to crack the encryption on the man's hard drive. The computer itself had been smashed beyond all recognition, doubtlessly by the vampire that still patrolled the island, but thankfully enough was intact for data retrieval.

"Any luck yet?" he asked, knowing it was about the dozenth time in the last five hours.

"Actually yes. I've cracked the basic external encryption. Now I just need to figure out his password."

"How long will that take?"

"Quite some time if I'm lucky, more likely I won't be able to do anything until I get it back to someone at the Cove or the Rock for more detailed methods. Its 21 alphanumerics, and the number of combinations of that is, well, ridiculous."

"Define ridiculous."

"A five with thirty-two zeros behind it. Roughly"

Falcon blinked twice, "I don't suppose there's any way to narrow that down?"

"Well, if I can pull the letters used, its just a matter of arranging them rather them correctly, rather than having to figure them out through guesswork."

"What does that narrow it down to?"

"Five with nineteen zeros behind it."

"I see." Falcon turned, "Ok, Blowtorch, Snake Eyes, Triage, Heavy Duty, Airtight, Sci-fi; you guys come with me, I want to take a look at some of the stuff down in the basement." As the others grabbed their gear, Falcon whispered to Rapid Fire, "are you sure you want to split the team up like this?"

"We don't really have much of a choice, we need to figure out what's going on around here, and that involves checking this computer and those labs in the basement. We can't leave Antenna here, and we can't just sit here till he cracks it, if he even can without better resources. I don't like it any more than you do, but I don't see any other option. Do you?"

"No," Falcon admitted grudgingly, "I don't."

"Then go. And try not to get killed."

Smiling humorlessly, Falcon rolled his eyes, "now _there's _some good advice."

"Best advice my daddy ever gave me."

"Oh shut up. Sir."

-

_04/19/2034: 0845h - Main Building, Basement, Poveglia Island_

Airtight ran a sensor from his pack over the massive vat, "there's more radiation coming off this thing than a dirty nuke. I would hazard that they were using this to introduce the random gene mutations Lifeline was commenting on seeing in those Viper bodies."

"So," Blowtorch asked, keeping a wary eye on the stairs behind the group, "this place is more than a mini Dr. Frankenstein lair? They kept troops here too?"

"Not necessarily, its fully possible that they just rotated the troops through for treatment and then sent them on their way, rather than keeping them here for a long time. Or they may have been using this for a similar purpose but something completely different. Unless Antenna can crack that computer, I've got no idea. This stuff's even weirder than the stuff that Clean Sweep uncovered in New Delhi. Any luck figuring the gear out Sci-fi?"

"Are you kidding?" came the response from behind a rack of computers, "this stuff was ripped apart by a boar-rat or something. Even if it WAS intact, this could be designed to deep fry bacon, or make artificial life, and I wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"I think we've established the latter," sighed Airtight.

"Yeah, well, I still can't tell you HOW they're doing it."

Two sharp taps came from around the corner, signalling that Snake Eyes had found something.

"I'll check," Falcon said, turning to Airtight, "see if you can figure out what's giving off that radiation, and how long we can stand to be down here before we start glowing."

"Only thing that could give off this much is Polonium sir, and that worries me, there is no way they should have been able to obtain this much without someone noticing."

"Well, that's just great, now we've got them running around with random radioacti- YAAAH!"

Heavy Duty came running around the corner, followed by Triage, both of whom skidded to a stop upon seeing what had startled Falcon. Floating in the tank in front of them was a human-sized organism. It stood around seven feet tall and was covered head to foot, and tail, in green scales."

"What," sputtered Heavy Duty, "in the hell is _that?_"

Snake Eyes tapped the point of his katana against a small gold plate inset in the top edge of the tank, it read "Lobotomaxx".

"Anyone know what that means?" asked Falcon, having now regained his breath?

"Couldn't tell you," replied Triage, shaking his head. "Perhaps he had a maximum lobotomy?"

"What exactly are you guys looking - woah!" Airtight rushed from the corner to the edge of the tank, "this is freaking AWESOME! We've got a specimen here and we can look at what they were doing, I've got to get Rex down here! Snake! Are you sure your link is down? Clean Sweep would LOVE the biotech behind this thing!"

"Stop shouting," Falcon admonished. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to look at this...this thing, later."

-

_04/19/2034: 0855h - Main Building, Poveglia Island_

Rapid Fire watched Antenna run some probe along the fractured keyboard from Dr. Nurse's desk, and while he had no idea what it was doing, he sincerely hoped that it worked. Over to his left, Freight continued to pace, a rather difficult task in the crowded room. Clearly he needed something to distract him from his current obsession with what had happened to Harpoon. Reacing a snap decision, Rapid Fire strode over to where half the team was clustered.

"Shockwave, I want you to take Barricade, Widescope, Stretcher and Freight and do a circuit of the main floor. See if there's some way we can secure it so we at least have some building to work with. If we can turn this into our operations center we can then make an attempt on the other buildings to figure out what's going on here."

Shockwave simply nodded, and the others were no more informative. Morale was definitely down, but Rapid Fire knew he couldn't do anything about it. So he had to make sure everyone survived. Shaking his head at the senseless losses his team had suffered on this mission, he threaded his way over to Antenna, "anything yet?"

"Well, the wear on the keys is outside normal typing behaviours. But when I ran it against the patterns commonly used by geneticists most of the wear fell to within normally acceptable deviations. It left us with a few symbols significantly outside normal parameters, all showing approximately equal, or twice equal excess wear."

"English please."

"I figured out what letters are likely in the password. Now I just have to figure out the combination."

Red Dog roused himself from the far wall and started over, "I think I can help with that."

Raising an eyebrow, Antenna queried, "you've done decryption work before?"

"No, but I do the word scramble and crossword in a half a dozen papers daily."

"Well," Antenna looked as shocked as Rapid Fire felt, Red Dog was about the meanest, most ornery person anyone was likey to meet, so his hobbies came as a distinct surprise. "Have at it I guess."

"OK," Red Dog said, pulling a pencil and scrap of paper from a pocket, "what are the letters?"

"Two As, D, two Es, I, K, L, M, N, O, two Ps, two Rs, two Ss, T and V."

"All right," said Red Dog, based on the length, we're looking at a minimum of two words, if not three. Lets see what I can do with this."

_04/19/2034: 0905h - Main Building, Poveglia Island_

Widescope heaved another table on end in front of the window to the last room on the south side and sighed, "One more down boss."

"All right, good work, we're half done once we get this set up," replied Shockwave. Off to the side, Freight was stringing some twine pulled from Barricade's rope through a variety of glass and metal shards to form a sort of wind-chime to be hung over one of the legs. If the table shifted, they'd be able to hear the noise and respond. As an added precaution, Stretcher was rigging motion sensors right behind the table that were linked in to Antenna's laptop on the far side of the building. Essentially they were charged with turning this ancient building into a fortress, no matter how improbable that seemed. In fact, it was quite ridiculous, that vampire that was hunting them would probably be through the window and in the hall by the time Antenna was able to shout a warning to the rest of the Joes. And that assumed he came through the ground floor windows, who knew what secret passages were built into the place from the mental hospital that had stood here centuries ago, or even more so, how many had been added by Cobra during their occupation.

"Traps set," Barricade reported.

"All right. Now we do the other half."

The others grumbled but filed through the door. This was a situation that Shockwave had to admit he didn't know how to deal with; usually members of the urban assault force were among the most gung-ho of all the Joes, but today morale was incredibly down. Even Widescope, usually the cheerful wise-cracker of the team was subdued.

I wonder if Brahm Stoker ever envisioned something like this?

-

_04/19/2034: 0910h - Main Building, Poveglia Island_

Elsewhere in the building Snake Eyes paced. He and Heavy Duty had determined that the basement was secure, and none of thew walls were hollow, which suggested that there were no hidden passages down there. Now he was making the pretense of checking the work Shockwave and his team had done to block the windows. Really there was no need to, the guys knew what they were doing, even though Freight was looking quite distracted. Really, he just needed some time to himself to think. Something was definitely strange here. While Cobra had kidnapped and held hostage several of the most prominent geneticists in the world to do this, it should not have been this easy to create these artificial life forms.

A pause in the routine of pacing. Did I just say life forms? Man, I watch way to much sci-fi. He shook his head and continued to wear a track into the stone floor. Altering the genetics of the vipers who had been captured, he kind of understood. He had no idea how it worked, but based on other things that he read about coming out of science labs, it was at least within the realm of possibility. But he knew that viable genetic recombination was still out of reach of any official laboratory, and it was difficult to believe that Cobra had the funding and the knowledge to pull it off where respectable scientists could not.

And yet, he`d seen it with his own eyes not twenty minutes ago. It seemed utterly beyond belief, but the evidence was right there, literally staring him in the face. What didn`t make sense, despite hours of pondering after dueling the first abomination, was what possible use that Cobra could have for these monsters. Clearly they had plenty of real people ready to fight and die for their cause, or were willing to coerce those they didn`t have access too but whose skills they needed. While he wasn`t about to deride the abilities of these creations, they were obviously quite dangerous, it seemed somewhat excessive, both in terms of effort and expense. Logically it would just be cheaper to higher a large number of mercenaries and arm them well with black market weapons, and it would have the same effect. They could overwhelm any opposition, eventually the joes, en mass, rather than entrust a sensitive mission to a single individual who, with bad luck, or good planing by an opponent could be outmaneuvered, just as the...thing...that had attacked him in the boat dock.

There was something more at work going on here with whatever this project was, and Snake Eyes wanted to find out what it was, but by the looks of the place, unless Antenna got really lucky, they weren`t going to find anything out.

-

_04/19/2034: 0915h - Main Building, Poveglia Island_

"Got it."

Antenna raised an eyebrow, "Already? That was pretty quick."

"Actually that took me a lot longer than I thought," replied Red Dog. "Usually I can get them done faster than that, but the V threw me off, never thought it would be the first letter." He shrugged.

"I see. Well, lets give it a shot." He reached over and pulled his tablet towards him again, it was still connected to the hard drive extracted from Dr. Nurse's computer, and the log-in screen flashed to life. Antenna's fingers typed in the password that Red Dog had determined, VAMPIRESDONTSPARKLE. The screen blanked for a second and then flashed the word, LOADING.

Blowing out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Antenna chuckled, "now there's an interesting statement. Someone must have read those horrible books from twenty years ago."

"What books?" asked Red Dog.

"Night, or Eclipse or something. About sparkling, vegetarian vampires or some such shit."

"Yeah, well, this thing sure ain't no vegetarian. An' I'm pretty sure it don't sparkle neither."

"I noticed."

Antenna turned back to his screen and Red Dog stretched before moving off. A quick survey of the files indicated that most of them were either above Antenna's pay grade or so scientific as to be incomprehensible to him.

"Hey Rex, I think this is your show now."

The scientist looked somewhat put out to have to leave his position near the wall where he had been talking conspiratorially with Sparta, Antenna quite suspected the two had something going there, but came over without comment.

Antenna handed over the tablet, and stood back to watch as Rex skimmed through the files, stopping first on one titled "Project Lunartix."

-

_04/19/2034: 0930h - Main Building, Poveglia Island_

Shockwave stuck his head through the door into the main room where Rapid Fire was waiting, "all set up sir, but I'd like to borrow Blowtorch for a moment if he's back."

Rapid Fire looked up from where he was reading over Rex's shoulder, "he's still downstairs, but go ahead and grab him. Main floor is secure I take it?"

"As we're going to get without an airdrop of some more supplies," Shockwave admitted grudgingly. "I'm having my guys string some of our location flares along the hall at regular intervals so we can keep an eye on the other ares."

"Good idea."

"Thanks."

Shockwave retreated into the hall and Rapid Fire turned his attention back to the screen Rex was holding, "All right, give it to me again. In English this time."

Rex rolled his eyes but repeated the explanation he had been giving for the last five minutes. "As near as I can tell is that they were running two parallel projects at this facility, Project Lunartrix and Project Cobra Law. I _think_ that Lunartrix was a sub-project of Cobra Law, but all Dr. Nurse had on his computer was general outlines. Whoever was in charge of the facility would have had more details, but unless we can find his computer, we're limited to conjecture.

Project Lunartrix's goal was to develop life forms of alien appearance and no self-control that could be released upon the world in such a way that it appeared to be an alien invasion. Airtight tells me that there is a sample of one type, code named Lobotomaxx, still in a tank in the basement. I'm not sure how many of each were made, but there were three different types under development here. The Cobra Law project was to develop snake-like life forms that were more powerful, and specifically built to combat the life forms developed by Project Lunartrix. As near as I can tell they were organized much differently, they had a single leader, code named Serpentor, an officer equivalent code-name Nemesis Enforcer, and foot soldiers code-named Cobra Law Guardsmen. I think that the thing Snake Eyes brought in a few hours ago was a Guardsmen, and that the vampire we're being run around by is a Nemesis Enforcer.

When I was reading this the first time, these goals seemed somewhat contradictory. Project Lunartrix seems to be the ultimate weapon of terror, so why have a system to stop it? After going through a few more files, I found out that the purpose of these two projects was, or issome form of publicity stunt. After three months of the products of Product Lunartrix running around, virtually unchallenged, the Cobra Law products would appear and combat Lunartrix, eventually winning as designed." Rex stopped.

"Ok, a few obvious questions leap to mind," said Rapid Fire. "Firstly, have you figured out what the other projects look like."

"I can," replied Rex, "but I'm going to need some of my own facilities. What I can tell you is that they wouldn't be as dangerous as the Nemesis Enforcer we're facing."

"You keep saying 'the Nemesis Enforcer', you mean there's more of them?"

"Got me. Could just be the one and the project failed, or they could have three hundred and this one was a fialure. No idea."

"Lovely. Any luck finding out who's in charge?"

"Everyone here seemed to be under a code name system. I pulled some e-mail logs to figure out what's going on. Dr. Nurse here was known as Dr. Question Mark, the symbol, not the words to his co-workers. The man in charge appears to be named Count Vlad the Cruel."

Beside Rapid Fire, Falcon rolled his eyes, "man, and I thought some of the Joes had weird names."

Rapid fire shot him a dirty look to be quiet, and asked his last question, "finally, any idea where they were going with this?"

"Buy public opinion, take charge, hostile takeover of governments, I don't really know. It doesn't seem to make sense."

"Mind if I weight in?" Rapid Fire was startled by the voice and turned around to see Sparta looking at him intently.

"Go for it," he shrugged.

"Its quite simple really," she said, "its a form of hearts and minds campaign. I assume that these things from project Lunatic, or whatever it is, are designed so conventional military will have difficulty taking them down. Well, if Cobra shows up with the Cobra Law things then they're the ones that everyone is going to turn to for safety since they're the only ones who can protect everyone. The public will beg their governments to allow Cobra Law forces to be stationed in their city, and then they'll be followed by other Cobra forces. How exactly they explain who they are could follow a few dozen different scripts, but then they've taken over. Its then a simple matter to batter the regular military out of existence since they're designed to beat the Lunatics anyway, and then Cobra can take control of several world governments in short order."

Rapid Fire really hoped that the horror he was feeling wasn't written across his face, but given the appearance of the rest of the Joes in the room, it was a common feeling. _Lovely_.

"OK, humor me," Falcon sighed. "How does Cobra explain where they got the army of genetic super-warriors from?"

"Oh, I don't know, there's a dozen or more possibilities. For example, they've already got the idea of aliens going. They could say that the Cobra Law creations were an ancient civilization that had been in hiding somewhere in the wilderness, say the Himalayas, for millennia. They had fought the 'aliens'", she made air-quotes around the word aliens, "in the distant past, and had kept an eye on humanity for years. And they'd continued to fight undercover aliens using special human allies, which would be Cobra. It explains how the two are connected, and allows Cobra to move in along with them."

"That sounds like the plot of a very bad Saturday morning cartoon my dear," Slaughter mocked.

"And the population is dumb enough to watch _those_," countered Sparta, inflicting the word those with scorn.

"I hate to admit it," interjected Triage, "but she's right. Put some of these things in the face of people without what we know, and the vast majority of the population will buy it in a heartbeat.

"Fine, fine, fine." Rapid Fire wanted to stop this discussion before it went any further. "We know what they're doing, the question is, how do we stop it?"

-

_04/19/2034: 1000h - Main Building, Second Floor, Poveglia Island_

Dart's head poked around the corner at the top of the stairs, quickly casting left and right. Devonowski's blood stain still marred the wall to his right, but otherwise things seemed quiet. Gesturing the all clear signal behind him, he stepped out into the foyer, his rifle poised at the ready.

"Really Dart," Slaughter growled as he pushed past, "you're a bit paranoid."

Taurus and three greenshirts followed, one carrying the last of the team's slow-burning flares, another a set of motion sensors to fortify the rooms on the second floor as Shockwave had done downstairs. With that level secure, and a basic idea of what had been going on on the island, Rapid Fire had decided to turn this building into a fortress from which the Joes could search the rest of the island and root out this Nemesis Enforcer vampire thing until they could re-establish communications or get reinforcements.

Dart wasn't nearly as confident in the idea. These Cobra Law things were designed to take down something else which was designed to be unbeatable by conventional military. Granted, this was only his first mission with the Joes, but he didn't know how on earth they could beat this thing, it seemed like its sole purpose was to destroy whatever stood in its way.

"Eh Dart," Tarus's rough eastern European accent cut into his misery, "lighten up. We're G.I. Fucking Joe, this overgrown bat doesn't have a hope."

Offering a weak smile, Dart watched Taurus turn and head down the hallway, spooky how that guy seemed like he could read minds half the time.

-

_04/19/2034: 1000h - Main Building, Basement, Poveglia Island_

Rex's head was buried in a rack of equipment containing stuff that even Airtight was having a hard time comprehending. Three greenshirts were downstairs with them providing backup. Much though Airtight appreciated Rapid Fire's concern, if Snake Eyes said the basement was safe, that was good enough for him. He was trying to run a diagnostic on the tank with the 'Lobotomaxx' specimen in it to determine what the Cobra operatives on the base had been using for growth media of the creatures. He hoped that knowing that would provide them with a bit of an edge against this Nemesis Enforcer, vampire, thing that was running rampant around the island.

As it was though, the media was nothing particularly awe inspiring; mostly water with a nutrient broth mixture that could be found in any tissue microbiology lab around the world. It raised the question of whether the specimens were actually grown from a single embryo or whether they were assembled piecemeal. The latter would possibly provide weaknesses that could be exploited, but would suggest a disturbing ability to override immune functions of the host. Of course, if the tissues were assembled separately, there might be no immune response, but that was something to worry about when they let Doc and Clean Sweep take a look at the thing when they got them back to the lab.

"Ok, you two," Airtight gestured to two of the greenshirts, "give me a hand with this." He had already laid out a tarp on the floor for the body. Even if he'd been inclined to use a body bag their supply was running short as it was, and he wasn't about to waste one on the science experiment here. Both of them seemed somewhat hesitant.

Airtight sighed, "would you two relax, its quite dead, and this stuff isn't going to hurt you, now help me get it out of the tank."

With reluctance they finally moved forward and helped ease the body out of the tank. Airtight stood on some equipment behind and hauled the body out by the shoulders and passed it down to the two men who struggled to lay it in the tarp. The third leg proved to be somewhat inconvenient as it was jointed in opposition to the other two, but eventually they managed to wrap the body in the tarp. For good measure Airtight stuck a vial of the growth media in the specimen's hand for later analysis.

The two greenshirts were trying to clean their gloves on various pieces of equipment. Airtight just rolled his eyes, and pulled a sterile towlet from his belt pouch to dry the worst of it off his hands before shoving it into a biohazard bag in another pouch to dispose of later. OK, so he was a bit of a hypocrite, he reflected, big deal.

"Anything useful Rex?"

"Well," came the muffled response from inside a bank of wires, "honesty no. I'd need another week, a few schematics, and a good read through those computer files Antenna stripped before I had a chance of figuring out how this works. Overall though, I'd hazard that they grew a bunch of different things together rather than from a single embryo."

A hand appeared between carpets of wiring, and Airtight helped the scientist to his feet, "what makes you say that?"

"A hunch mostly, there's nothing in the tank that directly specifies it, but there is a variable output electrical stimulator, as well as reserve tanks to release tropic attachment factors and a bunch of other stuff."

Airtight blinked twice digesting that. "Still doesn't scream separate entities combined to me, but I suppose it makes sense."

"As I said," shrugged Rex, "mostly a hunch. I'm going upstairs, I'm not getting more out of this now. You want a hand with the body?"

"No, we're good."

"Right then, see you upstairs." Rex turned and headed for the stairs. Behind him he could hear Airtight cajoling the greenshirts into lifting the tarp. At the top of the stairs he passed Dart and Shockwave, who were patrolling the corridors. They nodded at each other but didn't communicate further. No one was really in a talkative mood at the moment. He paused to stick his head into a room, "Hey Blowtorch, can I get you to char some ground?"

"Coming." Blowtorch was resting in full armor, which Rex was fairly certain was uncomfortable, but given the lack of proper sanitation facilities within the building, they had been reduced to using Blowtorch's flamethrower to clear a space outside the most northwesterly window whenever someone needed.

In the room, two greenshirts were standing by, Sconz and Katzenbogen by their name tags. They shouldered the wooden plate off the window and placed it to the side. Blowtorch leaned out and burnt flat a space of ground up to five meters outside the window.

"One rock, and burnt grass for you."

"Fit for a king," joked Rex. Much to his disappointment, no one picked up on the pun. Ah well.

Blowtorch and the two greenshirts made themselves scarce around the door. Blowtorch, decided he might as well get to know the remaining greenshirts since they might be all that stood between him and his own death, struck up a conversation with the two. In short order he determined that Sconz was a technology engineer with the brigade, and Katzenbogen was a heavy weapons specialist. They were interrupted by a scream from the other room.

Blowtorch stuck his head back around the door, trying to keep his gaze averted, "that's not funny Rex, we - holy shit!"

Rex was staggering back from the window, bloody stumps where his hands should have been, and a deep gash running up most of the front of his body. Climbing through the window was the shape of the vampire.

"Code red, CODE RED!" hollered Blowtorch pushing through the door and pulling his flamethrower in one motion. He triggered a full blast at the creature; normally he would have tried to avoid Rex, but the man was fairly clearly about to die anyway, so there wasn't really much point. The creature folded its wings in front of it, and pressed forward. It took a minute, but it slowly dawned on Blowtorch that the large rock that had lain on the ground outside the window hadn't been a rock, but had been the creature with its wings folded on top of it. Why hadn't he noticed that before? It should have been obvious... and the thing should be backing away from the flame shouldn't it? But it just kept coming towards Blowtorch, undeterred.

Beside him he could see Sconz and Katzenbogen dragging the still screaming Rex away from the fight into a corner of the room. Good men those two. "Back you, BACK!" he muttered in frustration, but rather than obeying the creature sprung forward towards him, its wings leaping open, one knocking the flamethrower from his hand. Before its automatic shutoff kicked in, it caught Sconz full on, dropping him to the ground. Blowtorch however, was a bit more worried about his own situation right now. The beast, now completely unhindered launched itself towards him and dug the two blades on its elbows into his shoulders. Blowtorch gasped, unable to draw breath to scream, and felt himself falling. Before he passed out he could see a couple flashes impact on the beast and drive it back a few steps. He was too far gone to realize what they were though.

Sci-fi had been catching a few valuable moments of shut eye when he'd heard Rex start to scream. Along with the rest of the Joes, he'd been sleeping in full kit, with his backpack resting next to him. He'd thrown it on and charged around the corner just as two greenshirts had disappeared into the room behind Blowtorch who was giving the vampire what-for with his flamethrower. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to keep the thing back long enough, and was taken down just as Sci-fi was about to reach the door. But the vampire's focus on Blowtorch had taken its attention off the hallway, giving Sci-fi all the opening he needed. The laser rifle was still highly experimental, even after almost two decades dedicated work by various military agencies. It had a bad habit of shorting out at inopportune moments, but thankfully it decided to work today and the first three shots hit the creature in the face and chest.

For a moment, Sci-fi allwed himself to feel a bit of elation, but that was quickly dulled as the vampire, he still thought of it that way, no matter what Cobra called it, which was no doubt their intent in designing it in such a way. To all appearances, he'd barely scratched the thing. The two shots that had hit the chestplate had barely dented it, and the shot to the face had raised a red welt but been mostly absorbed by the helmeting there. He triggered another trio of shots, driving it back another few feet. Thanking his lucky stars that at least the impact had an effect, Sci-fi advanced over the body of Blowtorch, allowing Rapid Fire and Med Alert who had piled in behind him to retrieve the body of their fallen comrade.

More joes were assembling in the hall now, and a few hesitant shots flashed over his shoulders. Sci-fi hoped that those who were taking potshots through the doorway were good shots, because he had little interest in dying from friendly fire. Make that none at all. The vampire had been pushed almost to the window now, and Sci-fi triggered the shots that would push it out. NOW the rifle decided to cut out. Just my damn luck, he had time to reflect before the creature sprung forward, fast bugger, and smashed him across the chest with razor-tipped fingers. Sci-fi felt himself crash into a far wall, not entirely sure when he'd had time to cover the distance.

Strangely enough, he could breath, and he realized that his chest armor, designed to protect him if the rifle exploded when firing, had absorbed most of the damage from the swipe. Glancing down, he confirmed that he was only bleeding slightly. Though the fact that the talons had cleaved through two inches of reinforced Kevlar worried him more than a little.

In front of his eyes, a black shape flew through the door and set upon the creature. Shots from the doorway suddenly stopped. Oh sure, shoot when I'm standing there, but don't shoot when the Ninja's doing his job. Then again, he assumed that the vampire didn't stand a chance against Snake Eyes. On the first pass, he'd already found a small chink in the beast's armor and cut it lightly on the thigh. The Vampire snarled and turned its attention to Snake Eyes. Taurus was plastered against the door frame, and risked a couple shots while the two combatants were separated, but both were deflected almost casually by the swipe of the vampire's wing.

Snake Eyes lit into the thing again as soon as the shots tapered off, dropping a shoulder into the creature's chest. The vampire appeared to anticipate this and drove both its fists into Snake Eye's back trying to force his face down onto one of the blades protruding from his knees. But Snake Eyes had anticipated this, and had braced his sword with two hands a few inches below his stomach and managed so cut off the bone-spur with his fall. The vampire reeled backwards screaming at the top of Sci-fi's hearing range. The piercing call caused everyone in the room to flinch, and cover their ears. Sci-fi's eardrums felt like they were about to burst, but eventually the thing stopped and made a run as Snake Eyes. Even he had been disoriented by the auditory assault and gave ground.

He managed to parry a few strikes with his sword, but one of the beast's elbow-blades sawed down the length of the katana and along Snake Eye's arm, leaving a trail of blood. Spinning to avoid another strike Snake Eyes opened some distance between the two of them, but something fell from his wrist. Sci-fi realized it was his communication link. Well, that would be a problem. Assuming they survived of course.

"Out of the way," came a shout from the door, and Hardball came barrelling through. He triggered first one, then another grenade straight into the chest of the beast forcing it back. A third blew it out through the window. Three more followed, finally pushing it away. Joes piled either side of the window, weapons at the ready.

Med Alert, Triage and Stretcher charged in, but Sci-fi waved off Triage, pulling himself to his feet, directing him to go help those in worse shape.

This was not good.

-

_04/19/2034: 1030h - The Rock - Special Operations Command Center 3_

"How could you have lost contact with them?" Lifeline was yelling into the radio.

Uplink glanced over at Dial Tone, that was something he hadn't seen before, usually Lifeline bordered on laconic in a crisis. Dial just shrugged and mouthed _better him than us, _doubtless referring to poor Datum who sat just a few inches in front of where Lifeline was yelling into a boom microphone. Hawk wasn't in a whole lot better mood about things ever since Ghostrider had reported that he'd definitely lost the link to Snake Eyes and the guys on Poveglia. He'd missed exactly how Lifeline's conversation with Ghostrider had finished, but he gathered it hadn't been too well given the expression on the colonel's face.

"We've got to get them reinforcements Hawk. I'll get it set up."

"You'll be doing no such thing."

"What?" Lifeline's voice took on a dangerous tone, one made famous in his long-running arguments with the Russian government a few years ago.

Hawk's own voice matched it for pure ice, "you may be used to getting your way Edwin, but around here there's a chain of command."

"You can NOT be seriously suggesting that we leave our men in the field?"

"Our men Edwin? Remember your place."

At the back of the room, Uplink noticed General Flagg entering. Oh great.

"Whoever's 'men' they are, they shouldn't be left there to die! And that's exactly what will happen by the sounds of it if we don't get them some help soon!"

"I can't authorize anything of the sort. You don't think this makes me sick Edwin? I hate it, but there's nothing I can do!"

"There's damn well plenty we can do!"

"You are NOT in charge here, and you WILL be listening to what I tell you! You are officially relieved of duties related to this mission forthwith. You will have no further involvement in this through the organization. Do you understand me?"

Lifeline fumed for a moment, opened his mouth to reply, closed it again, then finally replied, "I understand perfectly sir."

"See that you do."

Lifeline stormed out of the room, passing close enough to Flagg that the general was obliged to step out of the way so as to not be knocked aside. The door whispered shut behind his retreating back, good thing he can't slam it, thought Uplink, and the room went quiet.

"Back to your work men," ordered Hawk, "the show's over."

Once the rest of the ops center was back to work, Flagg walked over to Hawk and leaned over in a conspiratorial whisper, "I assume you know the second that he's out of your sight, he's going to do whatever the hell he wants anyway."

"I'm counting on it," replied Hawk in an equally quiet voice.

"The Italian government will go nuts! You've got to stop him."

"Stop him from doing what?" Hawk asked innocently. "I just told him in no uncertain terms that we wouldn't be launching any official operation without the proper clearance. He's lucky he didn't get pulled for insubordination for that argument."

It took Flagg a moment to work through what Hawk had just said. "You know Hawk, sometimes your quite brilliant."

-

_04/19/2034: 1040h - The Rock - Hanger_

Crazylegs climbed wearily out of the back of the modified C130, and caught the parachute that Trooper Hernandez threw to him. He'd run the two greenshirts on the flight through eight training jumps through the Rocky Mountains all night, and was now dead tired. All he wanted was to hit the bunk in his room. Thank heavens Rex was out on a mission, he wouldn't have to worry about being neat today. He'd clean his quarters in ten hours. Make that twelve.

"Good work Hernandez, Calloon. You both test easily high enough to be put on paratrooper rotation. Now, get some rest."

The two thanked him and smiled wearily, looking as tired as he felt. He made a beeline for the door, with every intent to head downstairs for some shuteye. It was not to be.

Storming down the stairs from the ops center, was Lifeline. Crazylegs nodded, too tired, and with his hands too full to salute, and Lifeline came to a stop. Crud, that wasn't a good sign.

"Crazylegs," a ferile smile split Lifeline's lips, "just the person I wanted to see. Round up every para-qualified man on this base. Wheels up in twenty."

Crazylegs emitted an audible groan, "yes sir."

"and one of you greenshirts," Lifeline continued, paying no attention to Crazylegs anymore, "grab some food for those who haven't eaten. The other grab a couple field cots from stores, you three look like you could use some rest."

After Lifeline disappeared down the stairs, Hernandez spoke, "well, at least he noticed."

Two floors down Lifeline was still flying down the stairs, and almost knocked Skidmark flying, "sorry."

"Geez man, what's the rush?"

Already disappearing down to the next level, "saving lives, killing bad guys. You know, the usual."

Another six floors down, Lifeline huffed into the IT center. Shareware was the only person on duty and raised an eyebrow, "can I help you sir?"

"Get me Flint on the com. Then I need a link to The Pit, then one to The Cove, then one to our stratotanker."

Another pair of blinks, "I'm assuming this has something to do with whatever hush-hush operation is going on up in the ops center that no one can talk about?"

"Officially no."

"Of course not, I didn't think so. Links coming up, give me a couple minutes."

"You've got one."

"Geez, someone's in a bloody hurry."

"You'd better believe it."

-

_04/19/2034: 1100h - Main Building, Poveglia Island_

Rapid Fire ran a hand over his face; he hoped he didn't look as exhausted as he felt. They'd only been on this damn island a little over fifteen hours, and a quarter of his team was dead or wounded.

"All right," he said with a sigh, "give me the bad news."

Med Alert looked positively worn, and there was no doubt that he'd done more than his fair share, but there was nothing he could do. "Well, as you would expect sir, Rex passed on some time ago now. Sparta was with him, so at least he had that. Greenshirt Scott suffered second to third degree burns over ninety percent of his body, and will need massive reconstructive surgery if we get back to civilization." Rapid Fire couldn't help but notice the use of the word 'if'. "We've managed to stabilize him using the stores from our packs and some of the rainwater we're collecting on the second floor, but the longer we have to do this battlefield patch job, the worse his prognosis becomes. Right now, I'd give him about a thirty to forty percent chance of pulling through, going down about five percent an hour. The fact he's not dead now is frankly a medical marvel. Then there's Blowtorch. Overall, he's fine, but he's going to need surgery to repair his shoulders. Obviously, he's out of the fight for however long we're here. We've stopped the bleeding. That was it for our obvious injuries, but it doesn't actually stop there. We thought Sci-fi's scratches were fairly minor and he waived off initial medical treatment so we could deal with the more serious cases. Unfortunately, it appears that this vampire secretes a toxin from its claws. Triage and I were baffled, but Dart of all people recognized it as similar symptoms to the Poison Dart Frog, and we were able to make something that's got Sci-fi stabilized. He's unconscious though and will be until we get him to proper medical treatment. Its nasty stuff, what Dart's got in his system is only a stalling tactic, the toxin is still there and we don't have the drugs we need to combat it."

Rapid Fire couldn't help but groan, "So I take it he's out of it for the duration?"

"Again, yes. Additionally, the two greenshirts that were working with Airtight to move the specimen from the basement? Both of them succumbed to the same toxin shortly later. It was at a lower concentration on the specimen so it took longer to affect them and the symptoms are less severe, but they're both in no condition to fight, and I assume its coming to it. So they're out as well. Franzen and Josephson I believe. That does it for the physical injuries."

"Physical?"

"Yes sir, there's also the mental injuries the team is suffering. Most of the remaining Greenshirts, special ops training not withstanding, are terrified and are probably borderline. There's a few good ones, three specifically, with them who I think we can rely on, but the other six may or may not be any help. Then there's Airtight. He's blaming himself for not being more careful with the specimen. He tested the solution it was sitting in, but not the specimen itself, and its got two of our men out of it. I keep telling him there's nothing he could have done but he won't listen, he feels he should have known better. And obviously, Sparta's quite devastated by Rex's death. I think it would help if you spoke to the both of them."

"Yeah, I'll go. Not really sure what I can say given the situation though."

-

_04/19/2034: 1101h - The Rock - Hanger_

Flint settled himself into what would usually have been the loadmasters chair in the cockpit of the G.I. Joe Team's C-130 Hercules. The operation had been thrown together in something of a hurry, so the position hadn't been filled. The crew consisted simply of Skywalker and Barrel Roll taking the pilots stations with Barrel Roll doubling as the flight engineer, and Crazylegs doing double duty as jumpmaster for the paratroopers and navigator. Lifeline was wedged into the folding seat usually reserved for the flight engineer. One thing that was kind of bothering Flint was how Crazylegs was compulsively fiddling with his restraint harness. After a moment Crazylegs noticed his scrutiny.

"Something bothering you Flint?"

"Well, when the paratrooper's nervous, it doesn't really help."

"I do have good reason," Crazylegs shrugged as the engines started up.

"Prey tell."

"Well, the take off distance is just over a kilometer when fully loaded."

"Okay."

"And the runway here is just over 850 meters."

Flint turned in his chair, "Skywalker, please, _please,_ tell me he's kidding."

"I'm afraid not," Skywalker said. On the wings, Flint could hear the engines revving, "this base was designed with jet fighters, helicopters, and smaller aircraft in mind during the Cold War. They never thought they'd have a full Herc trying to take off from it, so its a bit short of what we need."

Flint felt the blood drain from his face.

"On the bright side," added Barrel Roll, "there's a sheer cliff at the end of the runway, so our wings can catch the air after we run out of runway, so we have a few hundred meters where we can freefall before we reach flight speed. Kind of risky, but its worked so far."

"How risky?" Flint's voice was shaking.

"Oh, with a plane this size? About 1 in 3 people who try it will get themselves killed."

"And how many times have you guys done it?"

"Oh, we're beating the odds. We've managed it six times now," Skywalker grinned, "better hope for lucky number seven boys. Hold on to your arses."

Flint looked over at Crazylegs as the plane lurched into motion, "you really _are_ joking right?"

"Not really. But that's why they rev the props ahead of time. Even though we're not moving, it adds the equivalent of a few dozen meters to the runway length. We're still short though." He shrugged. "So far they've always gotten it right."

-

_04/19/2034: 1111h - Main Building, Poveglia Island_

"Airtight, come on man," Rapid Fire begged again, "we need you for this, your the only person who can do this."

"Its bad enough we're getting guys killed by a bloody vampire, but now we've got two dead because of me."

"They aren't dead, they're just a bit sick. Trust me, they'll pull through once we get out of here."

"If we get out of here Rapid, _if. _At this rate, none of us will survive until tomorrow."

"Oh for gods sake, pull yourself together, do you think this attitude of yours helps anything?" Rapid Fire had had enough, and his temper got the better of him. "Fine, sit here and sulk. Who know, maybe a few shots from your weapon would have been what turned the tide the next time vampire boy decides to show up, but what does it matter, stay here, that way you won't be responsible for anything. But don't come screaming if it comes after you either."

Airtight attempted to sputter a response at Rapid Fire's retreating back, but couldn't manage anything until the officer was out of site.

"Damn."

-

_04/19/2034: 1112h - The Rock - Special Operations Command Center 3_

"General Hawk?" Dialtone asked.

"Hmm, yes?"

"I've got a very agitated Bombstrike trying to reach you."

"Patch her through."

"Yes sir, here you are."

Hawk raised a headset to his ear, "go ahead Bombstrike."

"Thank you sir. Er...I'm not really sure how to ask this, but our C-130H just took off without filing a flight plan. It wasn't on the schedule either. Skywalker told me to ask Lifeline, but apparently he's off base, so I thought I'd ask if you'd given clearance for it?"

"No Bombstrike, I had no idea that that plane was to take off. I'll deal with it though."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir." Bombstrike said and signed off.

Hawk handed the headset back to Dial Tone, "get me a link to Law at The Pit. Tell him to arrest Lifeline when he lands. I'll prepare the form."

"Yes sir. But sir?"

"Problem Dial Tone?"

"Just wondering, are we sure he'd land at The Pit?"

"Its right at the edge of the Hercules' range, so he'll have to refuel there. So yes."

"I see sir."

"Good man."

-

_04/19/2034: 1120h - Hercules In-Flight_

Flint allowed himself to breath normally again. Despite the somewhat terrorising drop at the end of the runway, Skywalker and Barrel Roll had wrestled the plane back into the sky and they were now gliding between mountains. He was fairly sure that Crazylegs was smirking, even though his back was turned. Lifeline had gone back to the main cabin to brief the rest of the jumpers about what was going on on Poveglia. The cabin crew had gotten the summary a few moments earlier.

Crazylegs was in charge, and hopefully would get the force down intact and quickly enough to help the Joes embattled there. Other than that, it was down to waiting. There was nothing they could do until they made their fuel stops at the Pit, and the stratotanker before they got over target for the drop. Flint was somewhat nervous, he'd only made two para-jumps with Crazylegs before, and wasn't actually qualified to make the jump. He was somewhat hesitant to remind Crazylegs as he wanted to be in on the mission, but he wondered if it would be worse to put his fellow Joes in danger.

"Er, Crazy..."

Crazylegs flashed a withering glare over his shoulder, "Its Crazy_LEGS_ Flint."

"Sorry, I was just thinking, er, I only have two para-drops practice."

"That puts you two ahead of Lifeline. He's going to need a crash-course," a pause, "hopefully not literally."

"Oh, well then, I guess I'll be OK."

"You two baboons just better not screw up. Sir." The derision imparted with that third word was evident to all.

_04/19/2034: 1200h - Main Building, Poveglia Island_

Surefire glanced over at Falcon, "you think this is actually going to work?"

"I thought this was _your_ plan."

"Well yes, but..."

"This isn't making me feel too good boss."

"I know."

The two lapsed into silence. The team was pretty much on the brink of a collective mental breakdown already, but being Joes, they were game to take whatever else this beast could throw at them and come out on the other side, or die trying. It was that last part that worried Falcon, but there was nothing to do about it now. The teams were set, the plan was prepared and they were going, come hell or high water. Or vampire.

Triage, Freight, Airtight and Barricade were staying back with the injured troopers, trying to keep them alive and protect them until an evac could be ordered. Slaughter was leading his renegades, Katzenbogen and Heavy Duty on left flank. Rapid Rife, Falcon, Dart, the rest of the urban assault troopers and four of the greenshirts were stationed on right flank. The remaining four greenshirts were going to go right up the center. Their group was going to draw the vampire, somehow Falcon still insisted on thinking of it that way rather than a 'Nemesis Enforcer', into the next building, thereby distracting it while the two flanking groups moved in for the kill, bracketing the creature with heavy weapons, and hopefully finally bringing it down. Well, it worked in theory anyway.

Behind them, Falcon heard a door creek. behind them was a figure in bright yellow and forest green.

"How can we help you airtight?" asked Rapid Fire in a tired voice.

"I'm an idiot."

"Yes, you are."

Falcon let the silence extend for a few seconds before stepping in, "you should get back to the fallback," referring to the room where the injured were being looked after that they'd spent the last few hours fortifying if they had no choice but to flee.

"No...I...I want to do something. To help. I can't let anyone else die because of me."

"No one has Airtight," Falcon said gently.

All he got in reply was a grunt.

"Alright," Rapid Fire hissed, resentment evident in his voice, "go with the greenshirts on the decoy maneuver, you can take charge, and you've got the best armor of any of us."

"And if it kills me you'll be rid of the moper. Got it sir."

"Airtight! That's not what I-"

"Save it. Sir." retorted Airtight.

"Fine mess this is turning into," muttered Rapid Fire at Airtight's retreating back.

-

_04/19/2034: 1202h - Poveglia Island_

Nemesis Enforcer, the 'vampire' that had been chasing the Joe team around the island stood under a copse of trees, sheltered from the sleeting rain. He stared across the open fields at the building where his prey were housed. He had counted forty-two individuals arrive on the island. He'd killed at least ten of them, and another half dozen had to be dying. That left only about 25 of them. The ones that all looked alike were nothing to him, they cracked like eggshells. The others were tougher, but no match for him. The only one that worried him was the dark man. He was a threat, but he would be easily enough countered after their last duel.

-

_04/19/2034: 1210h - Poveglia Island_

Greenshirt Allen Bardwait crossed his fingers as he watched the last seconds tick off on his watch. He knew he was probably going to die today. He was all right with going out in a hail of bullets from an enemy, or saving his fellow teammates from an explosive, but this was not the end he'd had in mind when he'd joined the military. One of the first things about joining an elite military unit was the high probability of getting killed on the job, and if someone couldn't handle that risk, they weren't welcome. Allen had never had a problem with that. He had no family, given up for adoption at birth, he'd bounced around foster homes for most of his formative years, eventually winding up in the service. No one would care whether he lived or died. Until now, he'd thought that was a good thing, now he just regretted that there would be no one to mourn him, no one to visit his grave, if he even ever got one after this.

The last seconds disappeared. As one, Airtight and his three fellow greenshirts sprang to life, pulling aside a window covering and making a dash for the next building. The intention was to make it look like they were moving stealthily to avoid detection, but to put on just enough of a show to draw the vampire after them. Not that that was all that difficult now that Airtight's bright yellow led the way. They'd drawn straws among the greenshirts to decide who would take this duty, knowing that anyone involved was extremely likely to never come back. Allen had of course gotten a short stick.

Off to the right, under a group of trees, Allen was pretty sure that he spotted the vampire, but he didn't call out, didn't make any gesture of acknowledgement, just ran with his group, hoping that it would look realistic. Behind him, he knew that the window they'd exited through would now be blocked again, cutting off any chance of return. It was make it or die. Well, likely and die also, but there was nothing to do about that. Just hope that the cavalry arrived soon enough to pull their asses out of the fire.

The grass brushed against his calves as he ran through, reminding him of a brief period he'd spent in Peru hunting drug dealers. He'd come close to death more times than he could have counted there, once being caught between the country's president and a power hungry general in a very one-sided gun battle in an abandoned village at the edge of the forest. The general had brought the might of the army against the president's secret service, a small group of rebels who had, until half an hour earlier, been trying to kill him, and a group of 10 United States Marines. Somehow they'd managed to survive, and get out alive. Allen himself had dropped grenades through two tank hatches to kill the crew, and taken out another five infantry. Though certain details of that mission were still mysterious, including why the second regiment on the south had never shown up and been found dead though no shots had ever been fired, he had just been happy to get out of that death trap.

He'd promised himself then that he would never return to South America, no matter the circumstances. But he'd made no such promise about Europe. In fact, he'd always wanted to see Venice. Not what he'd had in mind. Not at all.

He shook his head to clear it. There was no point to this line of thought, it had no bearing on his current situation other than to further depress and distract him from what he was supposed to be doing, and if anything was going to get him killed that would be it. Instead he looked at the rest of his five man team. Airtight led them about three meters ahead. To his left were Geffery Ross, and James Franklin and off to his right, ranging a bit far out on the flank was Julia Forman. She was a nice girl, very competent, and deadly with a rifle. Geff and James were dangerous in their own right, able to set up a crossfire even when they were back to back. Allen felt like the odd man out. His own three partners had been killed on their duty, while this team had lost only one of their members. He was simply filling a slot, not actually fitting in. If anyone could be seen as expendable, it was him.

No, he mentally kicked himself, he couldn't allow himself to think like that.

Ahead Airtight reached the door, Julia piled on the far side, and Allen charged shoulder first. The old wood cracked and the door gave way with ease. Practice allowed Allen to stay on his feet, rather than tumbling through the door as many others would have. For once, his time on Peru was a brief source of pride. But that evaporated quickly as his group began searching the empty building for hiding places they could use to hold the vampire in place until the other two fire teams arrived. Hopefully before they got themselves killed. Julia took the stairs for the first landing, Airtight headed into the nearest room, and Geff and James took places behind fallen masonry in either side of the hallway.

That meant that it fell to Allen to cover the back and prevent the vampire from escaping. Which meant he'd be the first to get gored. Of course.

Propping the door against the frame, Allen hid himself behind it, hoping that would at leas serve as a visual blind, if not any significant physical protection. Then he waited. Listening for any sound, glancing through a hole in the wood, waiting to see any movement. He passed the time by counting, but he only reached fifty-eight before he heard a heavy tread squishing through the wet grass outside, before a bruise-colored leg appeared in the doorway. Allen stopped breathing for a moment, hoping that it wouldn't sense where he was hidden. Apparently it didn't, instead taking a few more steps forward before Geff and James rose in perfect unison and began firing into the creature's chest. That would be the signal to the two fire teams in the main building to get their rears in gear and get over here. The hope was that the sound of the rifles would drown whatever noise they made on their approach, so the vampire would be unaware of the approaching danger until it was too late to save itself.

Julia's rifle barked from the top of the stairs, followed by the distinctive hiss of Airtight's gun, whatever it was. Allen could hear the bullets hitting their target, and risked a peak over the top of the door, knowing his head would soon be detached if he'd guessed wrong. But for a change he guessed right. The creature's wings were up to protect itself from fire thus blocking Allen from view. He was only supposed to open fire if the beast tried to leave, to hold it in position, but he could see a small opportunity. Beneath the wings, above the roots of the green tentacles on his lower back was an area not protected by armor, or chitin, or whatever it was. If he could get a shot in there, he might be able to disable the creature and mke things easier on the rest of the team.

He paused, weighing his options. Well, if he was going to die on this island, it might as well be in a blaze of glory. He quietly stood up from his hiding place, and stepped over the door. Because of the angle of fire from his compatriots, and the way the vampire was standing, he was protected from their ongoing barrage. As he began his approach, one stream of fire cut off. That would be Geff. He'd started with a half-cartridge so that he and James wouldn't run out of ammunition at the same time. One could keep up firing while the other reloaded. Just as that stream restarted another cut out, this time from upstairs. Julia's smaller magazine must have been emptied.

Thank heavens for stubborn monsters, Allen thought to himself for a second, it was standing its ground despite the damage being done to it. Then again, perhaps the damage wasn't being done to it, and that was why. Ah well. Here went nothing.

Mentally crossing his fingers, Allen took his Bayonet knife from his belt and shoved it into the small unprotected area in the middle of the creature's back. A split second passed where nothing happened, and then the creature screamed and reared back. Its right wing caught Allen across his entire side and threw him over towards Geff's position. His stream of fire ceased immediately.

The creature stood in the middle of the floor clawing at his back. As soon as Allen was on the floor, Geff resumed firing, and Allen quickly added his own rifle to the barrage. But it was the bayonet that was doing the damage. Emphasis on past tense. One of the creature's tentacles, previously simply tucked against the body beneath the wing, had unfurled to its full length and now reached around behind it to grasp the hilt of the knife and pull it out. Apparently it wasn't bad enough that the thing had arms with two massive swords built in, and a pair of bat wings, but it needed a set of tentacles that would do an octopus proud as well. It ignored everyone else in the building and turned its attention to Allen, glowering and snarling.

Allen had noted he could no longer hear the reports of his own gun, and now realized why as liquid dripped down the side of his collar from his ears. The creature's scream must have burst his eardrums, and that liquid was blood. Great. Just great.

And yet, still the vampire did not move. Instead the tentacle with the bayonet recoiled. Realizing that it had to be in preparation to throw the blade, Allen prepared himself, and as the tentacle began to whip forward, he rolled to the side, expecting the blade to land where he'd been sitting. Coming to a standing position he resumed firing, but risked a glance at the spot where he'd been lying. No blade. But Geff's stream of fire was gone. It took a few seconds to combine those two observations to realize what had just happened.

The creature's wings would protect it from the other three streams of fire from behind, but left it vulnerable to Allen and Geff. Geff was an immaterial inconvenience to it, while Allen was clearly its target, so it had simply removed the extraneous variable. Lovely. Allen began backing down, hoping to reach Geff's fallen rifle before he had to reload, but he was too late for that. The firing pin snapped.

As soon as the last bullet left the muzzle, the vampire charged towards him, teeth bared, arms reaching for him. Allen tried to brace himself, but there was no more stopping the thing than there was stopping an express train. He was bowled to the ground, and the creature barely flinched. It stood over glowering at him, and Allen knew that he was staring death in the face.

-

_04/19/2034: 1212h - Poveglia Island_ - The Trap

Greenshirt James Franklin couldn't believe his eyes as the vampire threw Allen's bayonet unerringly into Geffery's neck. He uttered a scream of rage, even though he was deafened to his own voice. Blood was trickling from his ears where his eardrums had burst from the creature's shriek. The two fire teams should have been here by now, instead it seemed that they'd left the five of them to die in this building with the vampire while they escaped. That was just unforgivable.

Not that that would matter shortly if it was true. Allen had at least given him an opening; blood streamed from the wound in the creature's back where Allen had stuck it, providing a target that James wouldn't miss at this range. Taking careful aim, he fired a short burst. At least one of the bullets entered as the creature seemed to shudder, probably screaming again, before returning its attention to Allen who was cowering on the floor and trying to crawl away. Before he could get another burst off the creature's wings folded behind it, obscuring the hole and protecting it once more. Allen was done for if no one else arrived to help soon...

-

_04/19/2034: 1212h - 30,000 feet overhead_

Ghostrider pounded the console in frustration. Sometimes Snake Eyes could be maddeningly evasive. Most people would simply explain what was going on on the island, rather than being so damned vague. Ah well, it was still his job to bounce it off the satellite back to The Rock. Hopefully Hawk would finally send some reinforcements.

-

_04/19/2034: 1213 - Poveglia Island - _The Trap

This is it, this is it, I'm dead, I'm dead, Allen thought to himself. The vampire continued to stalk towards him, even though it looked like someone had hit it in the back a second ago. There was no way he was getting away from the thing, he was sure, as it raised its arms and prepared to bring its arm blades down on his head. Not really being in the mood to see his own death, Allen clamped his eyes shut, waiting for the searing pain that would end his life.

One second went by, then another, then another. He risked opening his eyes.

-

_04/19/2034: 1212h - Poveglia Island - _The Trap

As the first shots from the next building the team sprang into action. Sgt. Slaughter growled for them to "come on!" and they went. Henry Ragan was officially on his first offensive with the G.I. Joe unit. Normally, he reflected, this would have felt wonderful, to get to fight with the best the world had to offer, but right now, it just felt hollow. Over a dozen Joes were already dead, and if his team didn't run like the devil was chasing them, there would be more casualties in a few minutes. The group ran, grass and weeds trampling underfoot. Slaughter led the way, Mercer and Taurus just to his left with Red Dog and Heavy Duty off to his right. Antenna was hanging back with Henry, Darion and Reymond Jordan and David Katzenbogen. David was carrying his usual heavy rifle and portable rocket launcher, while Henry had appropriated the flamethrower that Blowtorch had carried before he was injured. The Jordan brothers simply carried their usual kit.

Henry could see the other assault team striking out from the opposite side of the building, forming the other end of the pincer movement. But it was the noise from the building ahead that gave him slight hope. Streams of fire could be heard, at least three, indicating that the Joes there were holding the creature at bay, at least for now. But then an ear-splitting cry split the air. Something had enraged the beast, perhaps one of the Joes had found a weakness. Hope stirred, and even though his ears were ringing from the noise, he could hear his fellow Joes' muffled cheers. The thing wasn't invincible after all.

Even though a stream of fire seemed to go dead as they approached, a small hope stirred him to greater speed, bringing him up just slightly behind Slaughter as the big sergeant crashed through the door.

One quick look around answered his question about what was going on, Allen was lying on the floor with the beast towering over him, and Geff, or was it James, he was never sure, was dead on the ground with a bayonet through his throat. Now how did that happen? But even more strange than the greenshirt having been killed by one of their own weapons was what Slaughter did next.

Hollering at the top of his lungs, "We all go home or nobody goes home!", he charged the beast and pounded it right in the stomach with his full weight. Foolhardy though that may seem, he actually managed to knock the beast back a handful of steps, and stave off the execution of poor Allen. For his part, it appeared he hadn't noticed the sergeant's heroism as he just kept lying there for a moment. The sergeant though, didn't waste any of his momentum, using it to slew around behind the vampire and clamp its arms in a vice. His head rubbed cheeks with the monstrosity, but with his legs wrapped around its waist and pinioning its upper arms above its head, it was temporarily immobilized.

Finally Allen seemed to realize what was going on and scrambled out of the way. Rapid Fire and the other assault team burst in through a far window and halted at the sight of the ongoing confrontation. Julia was hurrying down from the staircase to join the far team, and Airtight was right on her tail. James, or was it Geff, was still staring at the confrontation, immobile.

"Allen," Henry asked as the man approached, "are you alright?"

Allen shook his head, and Henry noticed the blood dripping from his ears. For an instant he was at a loss before the obvious answer hit him, the bat's screech. It had been almost unbearable outside, it must have deafened those inside, apparently literally in Allen's case. That was unfortunate, the guy was a bit of a loaner, but that didn't mean he deserved that.

Slaughter and the vampire were still wresting in the middle of the hall, but no one from either team was willing to risk a shot, lest they hit the wrong target. Henry was the most worried, a flame thrower seemed to hurt the creature, but it would bake the Sergeant to a crisp at the same time if he risked it.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Slaughter yelled "On the count of five boys, unleash hell! One...Two...Three..."

Slaughter never reached five. The vampire had managed to wriggle his elbows out of the sergeant's grasp so he was just holding onto his upper arms, and in a flash of movement, the arms reached back and grasped Slaughter by the back of the skull. His had was knocked off and he cried out in pain as the creature's claws raked into the flesh where his skull joined his neck. The sickening crack of vertebrae could be heard and the Sergeant's grip went slack.

With no more effort than Henry would expend hoisting a bag of groceries, the creature heaved the limp body of the sergeant off its back, over its shoulder and down the hallway. Henry jumped to one side, and he saw David jump in the other direction. But the body cannoned right into Tarus's chest, knocking the big Turk onto his back.

Distantly, Henry could hear Falcon yell, "light him up!"

Behind him, Heavy Duty opened fire at the creature, the rounds from his Gatling gun striking it in the chest. A few quick adjustments and his flamethrower added to the blast as David opened up with his assault rifle. Behind the creature, the members of Rapid Fire's strike force added their own weapons to the barrage, the weapons drowning the creature's howls of rage.

"Ok boys," Mercer ordered, stepping in for Slaughter, "you know the plan, back it up. Slowly! Slooowly." he admonished an over-anxious David.

At the other end of the hall, Rapid Fire's team would be doing the same, neatly pinioning the creature between the two forces, unable to move in either direction. Should it attempt to go out through the main door, Snake Eyes should have finished wiring it with a half-dozen claymore mines by now, and Julia would have done the same on the stairs while they were waiting for the creature. Thus far, everything was going according to plan.

The group reached the door through which they had entered moment earlier and paused there, waiting for the confirmation. It was a moment before Rapid Fire's voice came over the radio in Red Dog's hand, "ten seconds."

The Jordan brothers and Taurus exited first, carrying the bodies of Slaugther and Geff, (or was it James?) outside before the rest of the team brought the building down on the creature. Mentally ticking off the seconds, Henry reached two, waited a heartbeat, and then dove through the door. Though he couldn't see it, he knew that behind him David would be firing off a high-yield portable rocket and Red Dog would be hurling a satchel of explosives, matched by the other team.

The second remaining after the throw would give the two teams just enough time to get out of the building.

Henry stumbled as he lept out of the way, and a second later, something heavy landed on him. Or rather, some_one_ heavy, given the German expletives that were coming out of David's mouth. Behind them a massive roar shook the air as the explosives detonated around the Vampire. Masonry from the ancient building was flung everywhere, and Henry was glad he was flat on his face, as at least two large pieces flew only inches overhead. It took a moment for the noise to die and the smoke to clear, but the building was down and destroyed, burying the remains of the creature that had been hounding them since they arrived. No one else was going to die today.

A hand appeared in front of Henry's face, and Red Dog helped him too his feet, "you were supposed to go sooner greeny," he said, but not unkindly.

"Two seconds is a long time, especially with the speed that thing moves. Well...moved."

Red Dog tried to smile, but failed as he glanced at Slaughter's body, "yeah, he was fast. " He paused, then continued, "it was starting to move towards us when I threw the charges. If you'd let up sooner, well...that probably wouln't have worked." Another pause. "Thank you."

"Just doing my job sir."

He felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder and Darion's voice bellowed inches from his ear, "yeah, real nice work Ice Cream!"

Red Dog raised an eyebrow, sounding weary, "Ice Cream?"

"Yeah," chimed in Reymond affecting a ghetto accent, "the boi's about a' 'ite as va'illa ice cream. Can' dance fo' notin' yo'."

Henry rolled his eyes, and punched him in the shoulder.

"Hey bro," chuckled Darion, "this Ice Cream Soldier's got a flamethrower. Better watch your mouth. Sides, he might not give you your KFC next week."

-

_04/19/2034: 1440h - Hercules In-Flight_

"Still an hour and a half out," Skywalker answered Lifeline's query. "We've got clearance to land at McGuire Field, and our Sky Patrol team will be waiting. But apparently Law needs to speak with you. Something about an urgent communication from The Rock."

Lifeline raised his eyebrows, "either I'm being court-marshled, or they've regained contact. Whatever happens, once the tank is full and everyone is on board, start her up and go. Even if I'm still there. Flint'll take charge if necessary."

Now it was Skwalker's turn to raise an eyebrow, "you sure sir?"

"I'm sure." He paused, "but for the sake of plausible deniability could you head back and let me talk with Barrel Roll for a minute. If you don't know the whole thing, you can't be at fault."

Skywalker laughed, "when did that stop us before?" But he followed orders and headed back to the main bay where the rest of the joes were checking chutes and rigging for the drop.

After a second, Lifeline took the pilots seat beside Barrel Roll, "we need to talk."

Barrel Roll, always effusively cheerful, asked, "Want me to toss Skywalker out the back while we're over the ocean?"

A corner of Lifeline's mouth twitched, "no, though there's a few people I might need that for." He turned serious again, "Its about your brother."

Barrel Roll's face hardened, "you found his body?"

"No."

"Then there's nothing to say about him," Barrel Roll said and turned to face out the window.

"We think he's alive."

It was a good thing that the plane was on auto-pilot, otherwise Barrel Roll's abrupt movement would have sent them in to a rather dangerous spiral.

"WHAT?"

"Quiet," Lifeline hissed. "As you know, the compiled intelligence report on Cobra, based on what we got from Chuckles, goes out in a couple days, but since I was compiling it, I got to take a look through it ahead of time. Two different versions are going out. One to Majors and abover, and another to everyone else. Based on information from Chuckles, we have reason to believe that your brother is now working with Cobra."

"That's impossible!" This time Barrel Roll kept his voice down, but disbelief and horror wared on his face.

"I'd like to think that, but the records we have from Cobra are rather detailed about the ambush he and his team got hit with. In fact, its significantly more detailed than the information we have. Though I'm not thrilled that a former Joe, no matter who he may be, could now be in their service, the description of one of their members known as 'Blackout' matches almost exactly with that of your brother from our file. That means that...Barrel Roll?" A look of concern crossed Lifeline's face as the co-pilot's head lowered into his hands.

"Its him."

"I'm sor-"

"Blackout. That was what everyone called him at the academy after he made a point of shooting out all the lights of the next building. Blindfolded."

Mentally kicking himself for not remembering that report, he should have made that connection himself, Lifeline did his best to diffuse the situation. "It could be coincidence, but I thought it would be best that you hear it from someone in case it is him and we run across him in combat."

"Thank you." Barrel Roll mumbled, "is there any way I could...could see the report?"

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible," Lifeline said, then picked up the briefcase he had brought, opening it to rifle through the contents. "Your rank isn't high enough to see the higher-tier file, and your not in the right department to access the original records. Oops." Lifeline bent over to pick up the files that had just spilled from the open bag. He grabbed them and put them back in their place. "You'll have to excuse me, I need to distribute these maps to the drop team," he said, waving one of the files.

Before he reached the door, Barrel Roll spoke up, "Er, Lifeline? You forgot one."

"I've got all of my stuff. I must have knocked that one off the console."

Barrel Roll stared in confusion for a second at the door as it closed, then looked down at the file. He was fairly certain there hadn't been anything on the console, and opened it to check. The pages inside showed a thick "DO NOT PHOTOCOPY" watermark, but were obviously copies. Barrel Roll smiled and started reading.

_04/19/2034: 1600 - Poveglia Island - _The Trap

Triage sighed, and straightened, "your hearin-". Shaking his head, he reached for the pad of paper and began writing, _Your hearing should return in a few days. You'll need to get LL or Doc to look at it, but its not as bad as I thought._

Allen nodded, showing that he'd understood, then said in a voice louder than normal, "Thanks, I'm going to get some shut-eye."

Traige nodded and then closed his eyes as the greenshirt went off. It was an odd time of day for the team to be resting, but given that no one had gotten any sleep last night, and the storm was keeping the sky perfectly dark, Rapid Fire had decided that everyone could use three hours of rest now that the vampire was dead. After that they'd search the rest of the buildings. Triage was just patching up the injuries from the encounter and Med Alert was body-bagging the fatalities. Stretcher was on constant watch over Greg Sconz. His condition had stabilized for the time being, but stable and near dead wasn't exactly a good thing. Of course, there wasn't really much they could do about it...

Falcon approached, "that's the last of them then?"

"Yeah. I've patched together what's left of our little band."

A moment's silence followed, "well," Falcon said, his attempt to sound cheerful failing miserably, "at least we've seen the last of that thing."

Triage stood up, "I'm going to get some rest."

"You got it."

As he walked into the hallway, Triage felt bad for being short with Falcon, the whole mess wasn't his fault, it wasn't really anyone's fault, but it was utterly frustrating that things had gone so horrifically badly. Lost in thought, he stopped paying attention to where he was going, and after a minute, felt himself lose his footing as his feet caught on a backpack set right beside the building's main door. He crashed to the ground among a now unrolled tent and its frame.

"Who left this shit in the doorway?" he yelled.

-

_04/19/2034: 1605 - Venice_ - Police Station

"But I'm telling you, it was an explosion. I spent three years in Korea, I KNOW an explosion when I see one."

The police officer on the other side of the table was unimpressed. Almost three hours ago a group of American tourists who had been wandering Venice in the storm had come charging into the station, insisting that they had seen an explosion on one of the islands in the storm. In the _lightening_ storm. The desk clerk had put them in an interrogation room and it had fallen to Sergent Nico Bianco to talk to them about this. He was pretty certain they were all drunk, and had mistaken a lightening strike as an explosion. Typical ignorant American tourists.

Even if it was an explosion, he wasn't going to go out in this storm to check the islands in the bay. It was a waste of time, and besides, his coffee was getting cold.

"I'm sure it was sir. What were you doing at the time of the sighting?" he asked in a bored voice.

"We were just walking around. Damn place gets more rain than London!"

"I see sir, and had you ingested anything while you were walking around."

"Well, we'd had lunch at some place just before... But what does that have to do with the explosion?"

Ignoring the question Nico pressed on, "did you have anything to drink with your meal?"

"Well, yeah, a couple beers. Well, my wife and I did, not the kids obviously."

"Of course. How many beers?"

"Look man, I wasn't drunk!" The man was getting agitated again. Nico wasn't a small man by any means, but this tourist would have out-weighed him by several dozen kilograms. And his family would have collectively outweighed an elephant.

"Calm down sir," Nico said, in what he thought was a reasonable voice.

"I will NOT calm down until you listen to me!"

Nico sighed, got up and walked out of the room. The man was screaming after him, but he didn't listen. Americans. They're all the same.

"Francco," Nico addressed one of the young constables, "book them for public intoxication and disturbing the peace."

"But sir, they didn't disturb the peace. Did they?"

"They disturbed MY peace, that's enough."

"Yes sir."

Nico shook his head as the constable trotted off. He remembered the old days when a superior's word was enough to get things done and not engender a stream of unnecessary questions. Grabbing his tea, he walked to the front desk of the station.

"Anything new Maria?"

"We just got a call from the station on Malamocco, apparently several locals claim to have seen an explosion on Poveglia island."

"But there's nothing _ON _Poveglia. There hasn't been for years."

With a shrug, Maria replied, "that's what they claim."

"Well, tell Malamocco that if they're willing to believe such nonsense, to go look at it themselves."

"They would, but their boat got swamped in the storm. The chief is ordering you to look for them."

Nico cursed his luck. Even since Bennito had been promoted, he stepped all over everyone. No one else would tell someone to go out in this weather, there was nothing important on that island that couldn't wait until the storm had passed.

"Fine, I'll go look. Eventually!" Nico replied petulantly, then grabbed another donut from the box on the desk.

-

_04/19/2034: 1630h - _ _McGuire Field_

Law watched the wheels of the C-130 kiss the pavement, the screech reaching his ears as the first layer of rubber vaporized on the tarmac. Beside him Order barked irritably.

"Down boy," he said with a smile, reaching down to pat the German Shepherd's head.

The two had been together on one military police force or another for almost seven years. Order the fourth was getting old, in fact, was already somewhat older than could have been expected, especially for a dog that was still working, but so was Law. He half-figured that when this Order retired, he'd just take a desk job with some administrative organization and get off his feet for the rest of his career. But other times he knew he'd never be comfortable if he wasn't on the front lines. The G.I. Joe organization offered him the choice to do either when the time came to make his decision. But that was still a few years off. Or so he hoped. Law had figured he was about the oldest guy on the force outside of some of the officers, and while most of the rest looked up to him and respected him for it, there was only so long he could keep doing this. Of course, ever since Brittany had left him, he hadn't really had anything else to do other than throw himself into work.

He shook his head. He'd never thought he'd be one to think about things 'back in the day.' Damn I'm getting old.

The Hercules came to a rolling stop a few dozen meters away. Already Countdown was driving the refueling truck up beside the transport, and Sky-Dive was hustling the Sky Patrol into action. Airwave and Altitude were hauling a large crate of heavy equipment, Static Line and Drop Zone were hauling the team's parachutes over their shoulders, Air-borne and Albatroz were carrying smaller packs and weapons, probably for some ground assault and Aguia Comando was...er...ah, there he was, just coming out of the outhouse.

The forward door cracked open and swung away as Freefall and Blast Man rolled up a set of stairs to the door. Lifeline and Skymate came out, followed by Crazylegs and Flint. Flint paused at the top of the stairs, said something to Lifeline and disappeared back inside. Freefall went to supervise the fuel loading, while Lifeline and Crazy Legs approached. Crazylegs was waylayed by Sky-Dive, but Lifeline continued.

"Law, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be making sure that no one's causing trouble back at the pit?"

"Well, actually I'm here to arest you."

To his credit, Lifeline barely blinked, "are you now? Do you have the paperwork?"

"Well, there's something wrong with the fax machine out here, so Cannonball's gone back to The Pit to get a copy, Busy Signal's trying to get the Fax machine here working."

"Well, that is rather inconvenient. You can't really arrest a superior officer without the proper paperwork now can you?"

"No, not really. Its too bad though, I could arrest just about everyone else on the plane, but apparently Hawk's only interested in you."

"Its so nice to be popular," Lifeline mocked as he sat down on a crate. "So, Law, while I wait to be arrested, what have you been up to lately?"

"Smacking down uppity greenshirts, keeping the peace. The usual." Law took a seat beside Lifeline.

"Stalker giving you any more trouble?"

"Not since you got him transferred to The Pit. Once he got away from Snake Eyes, everything was all right."

"I don't understand why those two hate each other so much. I mean, sure Snake didn't come running back to the US after the War, but come on, the guy was in pretty bad shape, he needed some time to himself."

"Honestly?" Law replied, "I think Stalker's in worse shape. Sure, he came out of it all right physically, but the man's on the verge of a mental breakdown. First Aid gave him a psych evaluation shortly after he got here, and the guys got a whole whack of problems and insecurities."

With a sigh and roll of the eyes, Lifeline replied, "and that fits just how many of our special forces crew? Especially the ones who came out of the war?"

"Far too many. Far too many."

-

_04/19/2034: 1640h - _ _Venice Police Motor Launch_

Nico Bianco glared out through the windscreen, listening to the rain drum on his poncho. Constable Giada Zito expertly piloted the motor-boat out of the canals of Venice and into open water. She seemed quite at home in the storm, unperturbed by the orders to go out to investigate something so utterly pointless in such inclement weather. He shook his head in disbelief. He'd tried to bring a thermos of coffee with him, but it had spilled almost immediately after he got on the launch. Now he stood miserably under the weather. You'd think that with the amount we make off tourists every year that we might be able to afford a covered launch he thought to himself.

Off to the south the small islands of the bay were obscured by the torrential rain. Lightening creased the sky at irregular intervals but revealed nothing. There was nothing to stare at but the dark thrashing waters before the boat, and so he brooded.

At the wheel Gaida rolled her eyes thinking about her sulking companion. It was clear to anyone that the man didn't belong in the police service, or any other respectable occupation for that matter. He had no ambition, no drive, and no desires other than for a fat, undeserved paycheck and regular trips to the coffee shop. Most other officers kept a trim figure from exercise and hard work, but Sgt. Bianco was a hog of a man, triple chinned and with a gut that proceeded him by a good foot and a half. Somehow he prevented it from spilling over the gun holster on his right hip, though she suspected the weapon was likely rusted in place from neglect.

She'd joined the force after being one of the luck few who grew up in Venice, looking to do good and clean up the city that was besieged by ill-mannered tourists. She'd thought for the first few days that she'd chosen correctly, but then Bianco had had returned from vacation and turned her life into a slow hell. Littering offense? Step over it, or kick it into the canal, it'll wash out to sea. Robbery? Bloody tourist got what he deserved. Vandalism? Fine the victim if they don't clean it up by tomorrow.

Anything that involved going after a real criminal was discarded. Unless it was a stationary business that could be fined through the mail, Nico Bianco ignored it. To shift his lard out to actually do something required a direct edict from the chief. And even he was largely ignored. Even tonight, people all over reporting having seen an explosion down on Poveglia, and it takes him two hours to get his rear in gear to even listen to them, and then another half hour, and a couple threats from the chief to get moving. It was just pathetic.

Nico let Gaida believe he couldn't see her roll her eyes; overly pretentious bitch. Just because she was new to the force and had the urge to go leaping after every dropped tissue like a dog in heat was no reason that everyone else had to follow here running around the streets of Venice every day. There was such a thing as being practical. In a city that saw as many thousand tourists per _day_ as Venice did, it was impossible to track down the perpetrators of most of the crimes, unless they installed cameras on every street, every building and every water taxi. And that wasn't going to happen any time soon. She had to realize that that cost too much, was impractical, and would never be tolerated by - OOPH! The blasted woman kept going over these breakers on purpose, just to make him seasick. Everyone knew that he had a delicate stomach.

Gaida flinched as the boat crashed over another wave. She was doing her best to avoid the worst of them, but even the calm troughs were throwing the boat around fairly badly. Thankfully Poveglia had a small canal running through the center where she could tie up the boat to keep it from getting severely damaged. It might also allow her to debark in peace without Nico raging at here for her perceived faults. Perhaps she'd even be lucky enough to look elsewhere on the island and not have to deal with him.

Nothing would make Nico happier than reaching Poveglia Island. He didn't know anything about the island, but he knew that his first order of business would be to get the two of them to split up so that he could have some peace and quiet. He'd find the nearest grove of trees and wait it out until the storm lightened. She could do the heavy lifting on the island. In fact, perhaps he could find some old abandoned building there. Most of the islands in the bay had them, and he could search through them while she poked around outside. She was such a nature hound she probably wouldn't mind. Yeah, that was it. Nico congratulated himself on his brilliance.

Another few hard turns of the wheel avoided the onrushing wave, and Gaida finally regained control of the craft. Nico hadn't even seemed to notice how close they'd come to being swamped that time. Figured. But Poveglia was coming into sight now, meaning that they could land in short order and she could get away from him. Perhaps if she let him search the buildings she could do a check of the grounds and then leave him here until morning. Actually, that could work. She could pretend she found something and go back to 'report' it and get a larger crew out here to help her look. A more competent crew at that. The island wasn't large, but she wasn't keen about effectively having to search it herself; she knew Nico would be no help. Yeah. That was a good idea. The old swine probably wouldn't even notice.

-

_04/19/2034: 1650h - _ _McGuire Field_

Lifeline laughed, "dude, the Stars aren't getting near the Stanley Cup this year."

"Hey, just because your Flames have made the finals three of the last four seasons, doesn't give you the right to gloat," Law replied, faking a glare.

"Yes it does."

Woof!

"See, even Order thinks your full of it."

"No fair using my dog against me. He doesn't understand the icing rules!"

"No one understands the new icing rules."

"I...er...you may have a point there."

"Hey boss, your all filled up!" hollered Countdown.

"Thanks Count! So, Law, I guess you can't arrest me before I leave."

"Damn New York traffic. Should have had Clutch drive it out rather than Cannonball. He'd have been here half an hour ago."

"Ah well, its been good talking to you. I'll see you when I get back. You can arrest me then."

"Hey, wai-" Law sighed, "oh never mind."

Lifeline was already half-way across the tarmac to the stairs to the C-130, and its props were already running. The rest of the paratrooper team had loaded up while they were waiting, Ripcord being the last one to climb aboard.

The stairs were pulled away and the door closed. The Herc turned and began to taxi down the runway.

"STOP THAT PLANE!" Busy Signal hollered, running out of the office.

"What?"

"I've got the orders Law, you can arrest him!"

Law stared at the page dangling in her hands, "I thought that the Fax machine wasn't working?"

"It wasn't, but I figured out what was wrong with it."

"And?"

"Some _dog_ chewed the power cable. It kept shorting out." She glared down at Order.

"Well, there's not much I can do now," Law bemoaned, watching the Herc gather speed down the runway, "I'm not about to go and try to flag them down now."

Busy Signal glowered, "Fine, but _you _get to call Hawk and explain." She stormed off in a huff.

Law knelt down and scratched Order behind the ears, watching the Herc lift off from the runway.

"Good luck man," he whispered after the departing plane, "bring our boys home safely."

Arf!

-  
_  
04/19/2034: 1651h - Poveglia Island  
_  
Nico Bianco clambored labouously out of the Police Launch behind Giada Zito, cursing the weather, the waves, her, and the chief for sending him out in this weather. It was a complete waste of his time. Time better spent relaxing in the break room with his fellow officers.

"All right Zito, you cover the north island, I'll look around the buildings and see if someone decided to blow them up." He snorted. "Once you find the trees where lightening struck, come get me and we'll go back."

"Yes sir," Gaida replied, her voice artificially cheerful. Mentally she was rolling her eyes, all Nico was going to do was find a doorway and stand there while she did all the leg-work. Typical. AH well, at least she'd get some fresh air, and with any luck someone actually had blown up a building and was still around.

Nico hadn't even bothered to wait for the acknowledgement, and was already streaking towards the nearest doorway. In spite of herself, she sighed. After next week's review, she was going to request a transfer. To _anywhere_ but here. Shaking her head, Gaida departed for the north island. She had tied the boat up along the north shore of the south island, technically the middle landmass if one counted the fortress built at the south end of the island, so she had to make her way up to the bridge and across before she would be able to start her search. Other than the howling wind the island was silent and empty. For a half second, she thought she caught a glimpse of someone or something dart between trees on her right. Dropping to one knee and taking aim at the now vacant location, she waited, but the movement' didn't repeat itself. Curiosity piqued by the sight, and a small part of her wanting to shelter under the trees, even if only for a minute, she cautiously approached the location where she had seen the shadow. A few brambles and bushes tried to trip her as she passed, but she was soon standing under a tick grove of trees, completely sheltered from the rain. It was even darker underneath the canopy, if that was possible, and completely empty.

The trees covered most of the edges of the island, clearly having been allowed to run rampant after the last inhabitants had left. A couple of dead ones stood off to her right, but they were completely enveloped by the surrounding forest, so that had occurred a long time ago. She cast around and then noticed a broken twig, and a few crushed leaves. She paused, noticing a few other things out of place, seeming to lead in a trail off to the northwest. Heeping her gun handy, and wishing she actually had some reliable backup on this island, she followed, slowly and cautiously. It took her ten minutes of careful skulking, but she reached the edges of the woods, and came upon five figures leaning over a pit. It looked like they were, no that couldn't be right, it looked like they were pulling corpses out of it. She waited, but that was indeed what they were doing. Even worse there were two more pits in the near distance.

Gaida couldn't fathom why they were putting the bodies in bags, after they had probably killed them, especially given the array o weaponry strapped to each of their backs. What was odd though is their leader seemed to be dressed in an orange suit, while the othe three all wore a dark green uniform. Something was definitely out of place here, but in spite of their overwhelming firepower, and clear mental derangement, Gaida felt herself step out from behind the tree, and heard herself bark "Venice police, hands in the air!"

The two in green uniforms pulling a body up from the hole didn't even turn, the other two greenies, a man with bandages on his ears, and a woman with a sniper rifle turned in the blink of an eye and had weapons trained on her. The guy in orange, turned his head, raised an eyebrow and replied with two words that made no sense.

"Snake Eyes."

"Wha-"

Gaidas' reply was cut off at the same time that a sword cut off the barrel of her gun. She gasped and stumbled backwards, but a man, completely clad in black with what looked like a knight's visor covering his eyes grabbed hold of her arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to immobolize her. Or so he thought. She immediately moved to trip and shoulder throw him, bringing him in front or her for a shield, where she could grab his own weaponry for use against his compatriots. But to her surprise, he managed to simply adjust his elbow and cause her to go flying past and land in a heap on the ground. Before she could get up, his sword was at her throat. She braced herself for the end, but all the masked man did was shake his hand and sheath his sword before disappearing back into the grove of trees without a word.

"You'll have to forgive old Snake Eyes," said the man in orange in English, "he's kinda quiet."

Something about this must have been funny as the four mercenaries, she was quite sure that's what they were, dressed in green all smirked at this remark.

"My name is Med Alert. I'm sorry to have to inconvenience you, but we are going to have to take you hostage."

"Don't bet on it," spat Gaida, also switching to English.

"Venice police you said? Alpha, Tango, Whiskey, Charlie, Charlie, Bravo, seven, twelve, whiskey."

She blinked twice before the meaning of the words sunk in. Each police force worldwide had a specific operations code that consisted of alpha numeric that would identify any individual with authority within or over the unit. Often these codes were subordinated to a country code, and that was what the man had just given. Not mercenaries then, Italian special ops, or more likely American given the man's accent. Still, she didn't say anything, waiting to see if it had just been a lucky guess.

The man waited, then turned to one of his partners, "James, that WAS the right code wasn't it?"

"That's what I heard in briefing," the man called James replied. The woman and the African-American nodded in agreement, the guy with bandages on his ears didn't appear to hear. Interesting, perhaps the reports of an explosion were true and he had been injured. That would also explain the bodies. However, it didn't really explain why there were three holes filled with bodies, an explosion would normally have torn its victims apart, especially one big enough to have been seen through this storm. Still, eventually she might get an answer.

The man in orange, Med Alert he'd called himself, sighed, then spoke again, "Miss, you can either come with us voluntarily, or we can do this the hard way. And trust me, you want to pick the former."

"You wouldn't hurt a police officer," she said defiantly, raising her chin and glaring down her nose.

The man's face hardened,"Miss, after the last twenty-four hours on this island from hell, I have no problems _killing_ you, let alone hurting you. And what's more, my organization would provide me clemency for it. I'll happily body-bag you if it will prevent one more of my men from getting a scratch. Got it?"

The pure vehemence in his voice succeeded where many hardened criminal's threats had failed, she flinched.

"Miss," came a deep voice from behind her. She whirled, expecting the man clad in black, but instead she was looking into the face of a hulking African-American. While he had a jovial face, his rough voice scared here at some primal level.

"It would be in your own best interest to just listen to the man and come with us. I assure you, he's in about the best mood of all of us right now."

Much though she wanted to protest more, Gaida knew that she was well and truly trapped.

"Fine."

"Wise choice miss," said the large man, then promptly did something she hadn't ever expected, slapping a pair of handcuffs on her arms.

She promised herself that these men would pay, somehow, sometime soon.

-  
_  
04/19/2034: 1651h - Poveglia Island_

Nico watched Gaida disappear over the bridge, and smiled, free and clear. Part of him debated taking the launch back to Venice and relaxing at home for the rest of the night, and just leave her here. She probably wouldn`t even notice, because she`d be too focused on her pointless search to even notice his absence. The only thing stopping him was that the damn woman had taken the keys for the ignition. Not that Nico didn`t know how to hotwire the boat, he`d done a stint as a repossession agent before moving to Venice all those years ago. Still, that might get him in trouble, and he needed the health coverage. His bills were starting to rack up, and he needed a liver transplant next month. Grumbling at his misfortune he began to hike towards the nearest building.

The island was deserted, just as he had expected, and the buildings were all dark. He didn`t notice the blood streaked on the grass beneath his feet, or the oddly broken branches of many of the nearby trees, or the spike-trap on the other side of a bush, still reeking from pieces of an unfortunate greenshirt. He had eyes only for the nearest bulding`s doorway which was fast approaching. Though he hadn`t sped much past a walking pace, he was practically out of breath. He cursed the air quality, even though pollution was now effectively a thing of the past, instead of his own lack of fitness.

The old door stood open, and though this was unusal he didn`t notice how sharply this contrasted with the far building where all the windows were boarded. Stepping in he headed for the stairs, completely ignorant of the wet footprints lining both hallways, and proceeding down a second staircase to the basement. He simply headed for the upper floor, hoping to find a bunk. He knew the old tales that the island had once been a mental hospital, and that it had been used briefly for retirement condominiums until a large number of residents had died under mysterious circumstances, so he presumed there would be at least one bed left over on the upper floor that he could use for a few hours to make it look like hed done a through investigation of the empty buildings.

He reached the upstairs and soon reached a room that did indeed have a bed. He was quite happy that it was an inside room, and lacked a window through which the rain could pass. Strangely the bed appeared to be more modern than he would have expected, something he did make note of, given that he owned the same version from IKEA, but the relevance of this observation escaped him as he tossed his coat on the floor and climbed in. He was promptly asleep two minutes later and didn`t hear the noise of a large Turkish man in the hallway.

-  
_  
04/19/2034: 1651h - Poveglia Island_

A large pile of ancient masonry marked the location where once a five hundred year old building had stood. Its sides had been blown out by one of the largest explosions that had ever been seen in the Venice lagoon. Mixed in the rubble was various scientific equipment, beds, and abandoned clothing. Beneath the rubble lay a stairway leading to a hidden underground lab, but beside this access-way the rubble shifts. Not from any natural force.

Slowly masonry tumbles away from an area that slowly shifts upwards, more masonry, woodwork and rubble shifted, slowly sliding away from a body pushing up from underneath. As the detritus from the explosion cascaded down the sides, a menacing form was revealed. Bleeding, torn and broken, a beast clothed in battered red armor, a purple skin and expression promising vengeance.

The `vampire`, Nemesis Enforcer was not defeated. Not yet. And now, he wanted vengeance.

-  
_  
04/19/2034: 1730h - Poveglia Island_ - Underground Laboratories

Rapid Fire gave Gaida Zito another appraising look. The woman was becoming quite a nuisance around the place, even though they had no choice but to hold her until they had finished tearing the place apart for whatever they could find. She'd been screaming when they brought her in about seeing a vampire disappear around a distant tree. Of course, the team had done its best to dissuade her, despite their own trepidation at hearing the news, but Shockwave and Barricade had confirmed that the building they'd brought down on the creature was completely destroyed and there was no chance it had survived, let alone escaped.

Of course, that hadn't stopped the woman screaming until Taurus had interjected, "I do not like her mouth. Let us remove it yes?"

That had shut her up in quite a hurry, and also lightened the mood of the team. Sometimes the renegade's violent humour was exactly what was needed in situations like this. Of course, now that he was a few hallways away, Gaida had regained her courage and was screeching about mistreatment, making a report and a dozen other minor perceived ills. There was really little to complain about in his opinion, she'd been treated far better than any prisoner would have ever had the right to expect, and given all that the team had gone through over the last day, she was lucky that she was even still alive to enjoy their hospitality.

"Miss Zito," he finally snapped, "would you please shut up!"

"I will not, Rapid Fire," she replied, twisting his name into a curse, "this is unbelievable treatment, and if you really have the authority you claim, which I highly doubt I might add, you wouldn't be treating me like this."

"We have more authority than that. And allow me to assure you I'm on the bring of exercising it."

"Really?" she sneared, "then just do it."

Her haughty glare almost put him over the edge. He paused to think, he wasn't quite justified at this point, but if she kept pushing it, he had little doubt that his fellow Joes would complain if he put her down for 'interfearing with the war effort'. He shook his head again.

"Miss Zito," he replied, attempting to remain polite in spite of him self, "do you know what a Sanction One is?"

"Something that doesn't exist?"

Rapid Fire fought back a retort, "No, it means that if you hamper our operations, I'm authorized to put you in intensive care and fill out a couple forms. And your government wouldn't do a damn thing. Oh, and the medical bills would be your problem."

Technically that was a Sanction Two, but the comment and his vicious smile had the desired effect of making the woman blanch and go quiet. Sanction One was simply an enhanced interrogation, but what she didn't know would help him.

"Thank you Miss. I assure you, your time with us will be quite pleasant if you keep to yourself.

-  
_  
04/19/2034: 1735h - Poveglia Island_ - Underground Laboratories

Shockwave cursed as he whacked his head on a low-hanging piece of pipe, "you think they'd have designed this place a bit better wouldn't you?"

Barricade shrugged, "I'm no scientist, but I'm sure Clean Sweep would have issues with this place."

Widescope laughed, "Clean Sweep would have issues with Doc's lab."

"Sad but true," agreed Barricade, "remind me again who thought it was a good idea to hire him? I think Airtight, Flash and Haz-mat would be sufficient for our CBR needs."

Another shrug from Barricade, "well, command obviously didn't think so. Perhaps they know something more than we do."

"Probably do," agreed Shockwave, "I mean, just look at that Intel report we got on Cobra command. That organization's freaking massive, and they've got a lot of freaky doctors on staff. Hell, look at this place, how many scientists must they have had in here. If they hadn't already stripped all the useful stuff out of here, we'd probably need all four of them to go over it."

"Good thing its just bag and grab now," Widescope said, kicking a broken chair out of the way. "Hey now, what's this?"

"Let me see."

Widescope moved back to let Barricade take a look, "now what have you stumbled on my friend. Interesting, I wonder where that goes."

Underneath the chair was a trap door that apparently led down farther into some underground complex. Which was strange in and of itself as they were already beneath the islands water table. Around them, they could hear small pumps clattering to keep the complex dry.

"Go get Airtight and Antenna," Shockwave addressed Barricade, then turning to Widescope added, "better find Falcon or Rapid while we're at it. This could be gold."

The two Joes disappeared down the corridors, and Shockwave bent to investigate. Removing a flashlight from his back he opened the trap door and looked down. Predictably the room was dark, but the flashlight illuminated a steal ladder bolted into the carved rock. Idly wondering exactly how the Cobra organization had managed to dig all these tunnels, and the rock chippings clearly indicated that they were recent additions to the island, without anyone around having noticed the dumped rock, Shockwave swung a leg over the side and tested the third rung down. It held his weight.

For a half a second, he debated leaving his rifle and SMG on the floor, then thought better of it, slinging the rifle back on his shoulder and snapping his light onto the barrel of his SMG. He slowly descended into the dark room. The floor was only 15 rungs down, around the same number of feet. Keeping his back to a wall, Shockwave edged around the room, looking for a light switch. The wall appeared to be lined with computer servers, and they looked remarkably intact, this could just be what they needed to crack Cobra. Of course, without power, it would be difficult, but hopefully Antenna could do something with it.

_04/19/2034: 1735h - Poveglia Island_

Along the north edge of the island a small two-person submersible approached an underground cavern and after passing under a small curtain of rock, rose to the surface of an underground pool. The room was the same in which Snake Eyes had dueled with one of the Guardsmen of Project Cobra Law some hours ago. The surveillance camera i nthe room was the only one still working, and had caught the entire duel on tape. This had alerted Cobra high command that the operation couldn't be cleaned out as quietly as had originally been intended.

It had been dangerous to attempt to remove the remaining files and specimines with the renegade Nemesis Enforcer loose on the island, but they had been stripped methodically during his near nightly absences, with a single Guardsman guarding the underground docks to prevent discovery of the operation. But now that someone else was on the island, a new plan had been devised. Destroy the whole thing. To that end Kracken and Fiirefly had been dispatched to the island to prevent any further investigation. And if a few of the investigators there went with it, so be it. In fact, all the better.

Neither individual though knew what they were dealing with on the island. They knew that three boats had arrived earlier in the day, but had been unable to ascertain just how many operatives were on the island. They knew that there was one man dressed in black who carried a sword and was more than a match for one of their Guardsmen, so they were highly trained. They also knew that their mission was doubtless to rescue the other operatives that had attempted to investigate the island. The danger was that the renegade Nemesis Enforcer would no longer be sufficient to keep them at bay. This was evidenced by the fact that it hadn't left its haunt on the island to hunt elsewhere during the previous night, suggesting that prey still lived.

Firefly was justifiably nervous of any individuals that could survive a period of time near this creature. He'd been assigned to the first team that had been sent to kill the creature. He was also the only one from that group that had come back alive. All because the commander hadn't listened to his original suggestion to just blow the whole island. Firefly may have only been a contractor rather than a permanent member of the Cobra organization, but he knew damned well what he was doing. Any problem could be solved through the judicious application of high explosives or head shots. There was no reason that he should have been made to come back to this god forsaken island, and yet here he was. Ah well, a nice seven figure sum made the trip worthwhile. There was that new yacht to think of after all.

Kracken jumped out of the boat and landed on the dock, and tied the boat in place. FIrefly stretched before retrieving a satchel of C4 from the floor of the cabin. More explosives were jammed into the back of the submarine and would be strung throughout the subterranean laboratories dug by the Cobra organization just a few short months ago, but these were for the meddlers who had caused this operation. Firefly looked forward to adding to his body count. Hopefully this operation would have the ten he needed to top eighteen thousand. He smiled at the thought.

"Ready," stated Kracken in his usually gurgling voice.

Firefly just nodded. There was no need for a vocal response. There was really no need for Kracken to speak either, but it seemed that most people had some subconscious need to constantly waste time and effort exercising their vocal cords. Firefly preferred to speak through actions. Many said he simply lived to kill people in the most painful and gruesome way possible, but that wasn't true. Yes, he enjoyed killing, otherwise he wouldn't still be doing the job he was, but there was a reason he enjoyed it so. The world, if one looked around was beautiful and pristine, the only blight on it was the filth of humanity, and in his own way he was helping to fix that. Someone had made a movie around 2007 about the world after humans, he couldn't remember the title just now, but it had shown that even a few years after the disappearance of the human race, nature would reclaim what was rightfully hers. Firefly was just helping it along the way. Explosives worked quite nicely to reduce things to carbon that could be used immediately.

Of course, there was no harm in getting paid for it either. One had to live you know.

-  
_  
04/19/2034: 1740h - Poveglia Island_ - Underground Server Farm

"Jackpot!" Antenna grinned the second Shockwave showed him around the underground room. "This is exactly what we're looking for. If I can pull everything from here we can get a complete picture of this operation, and probably a good indication of what all of Cobra is up to. Great work you guys on finding this."

Barricade shrugged, silhouetted in the upper access hole, "it wasn't quite intentional."

"Do I look like I care? This is like Christmas!" exclaimed Antenna.

Falcon leaned over to Wide Scope, "strange idea of Christmas."

Wide Scope affected a Carlton the Doorman tone of voice, "it is my understanding sir that you are not allowed to comment on any of our religious beliefs."

Falcon snorted and socked him in the arm.

-  
_  
04/19/2034: 1730h - Poveglia Island_

Nico Bianco watched out a window with interest at a group of soldiers moving from his building to the next. A conversation in the hallway outside his room had awoken and terrorized him. He'd originally thought that Gaida had brought the chief to the island and they were going to dress him down. Turned out to be a couple of soldiers, three men and a woman, talking about some terrorist organization that had used the island as a base of operations.

Clearly they were insane, and probably responsible for the explosion. There hadn't been any activity on this island for years, and they actually thought some science project had been run by terrorists here? It was comedic. If he could report this back to HQ he'd be a hero and he could retire. But this would be much easier if he could catch one of the looney-bin escapees. That couldn't be too hard.

-  
_  
04/19/2034: 1800h - Poveglia Island_ - Tunnels__

Firefly glanced over his shoulder to make sure the wire was hanging straight as he affixed another C4 charge to the tunnel's wall. In front of him, Kracken stood guard, rifle almost casually pointed forward sweeping the area ahead. Whatever mental deficiencies the man suffered, he at least knew how to shoot stuff, and right now, that was all Firefly cared about. Satisfied with the charge, he began letting out cord as he approached the next spot twenty meters down the tunnel. So far, they'd been lucky enough to not encounter any of the military forces that had descended on the island, and he'd be more than pleased to keep it that way. They'd wind up dead either way, if he shot them, or if they were here when the island blew up, so it might as well be the second option which didn't involve risking his own neck.

The line snagged on a small rock protruding from the wall which Firefly pushed away irritably. As it was, it was taking far too long to string these things by himself. They should have brought a Nitro Viper along to help, it would have sped things up considerably, it wasn't like Cobra was short staffed or anything. Firefly shook his head, then paused.

"What?" he asked Kracken irritably.

"I didn't say notin," the man gurgled.

Firefly frowned and looked up the tunnel towards Kracken. The sound came again, but it was behind him. He turned cautiously around, and shone his flashlight down the hall. Ah shit. Striding towards him was the rogue Nemesis Enforcer. It looked like it had been shot, stabbed and blown up - several times - and yet it was still stalking towards him, likely intent on killing him. On one hand, Cobra Commander would probably pay him a bonus for reporting on the success of the Nemesis Enforcer in combat conditions, on the other, it would be really inconvenient if he died before he could deliver the message. Decisions decisions.

"RUN!" he hollered and sprinted after Kracken. He dropped the explosives behind him, and removed the triggering device from his belt. Blowing the explosives he'd already laid would prevent them from destroying the island, and destroy their submarine, but the military force here had to have brought their own, and Firefly was sure he could hotwire one to get off the island. So long as he stopped the creature pursuing them. Of course, there were a lot of ifs and assumptions in that plan, but there was no way he was risking his neck any further. He pressed the button and the explosives detonated all around the Nemesis Enforcer, encasing him in fire and bringing down a significant section of the island's rock on top of him. That should kill him.

-  
_  
04/19/2034: 1801h - Poveglia Island_ - Tunnels

A massive explosion sounded down one of the corridors from where Falcon and Rapid Fire stood.

"What the hell?" Falcon asked. "Who else is down here?"

"Damned if I know," replied Rapid Fire. "Weapons ready everyone."

The command was completely unnecessary, everyone had their weapons out already. Falcon and Rapid Fire approached the door leading to the hall where the noise had come from. Widescope and Shockwave took positions five feet back, assault rifles pointed forwards while the rest of the Joes piled behind machinery in the room. Everything was quiet for a moment, and then Falcon reached for the door. Before he touched the handle he heard shouting in the hallway, followed by the sound of gunfire. He looked at Rapid Fire who shrugged, and the wrenched the door open.

It was had to tell trough their masks, but he could have sworn that both Beachhead and Widescope's jaws dropped, and a moment later when he peaked around the door, he realized why. Running towards them in complete panic were a Cobra Diver and no one other than Firefly, the world's most notorious terrorist. But even more shocking was the sight behind them - a collapsed tunnel with smoke still pouring from where several tons of explosives must have gone off, and striding slowly towards them, the vampire.

Rapid Fire interrupted his thoughts, "didn't we drop a building on that bastard thing?"

"Looks like they did too," Widescope replied. "You want me to shoot them?"

"We can use the extra guns right now. Shoot them later. IN HERE!" he hollered down the hall to the two terrorists. "We'll cover you!"

Firefly glanced over his shoulder and seemed to shrug before running for the open door. Falcon began firing down the hall, and grabbed his last grenade from his pack and tossed it down towards the vampire. It felt very weird to be deliberately trying to _not _shoot the terrorists, but then again, nothing today had gone as he expected.

-  
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04/19/2034: 1801h - Poveglia Island_ - Surface

Nico Bianco was just making his way to the building where he had seen the crazy soldiers disappear when a massive explosion blossomed to the right. The shockwave threw him to the ground, even though it had occurred on the northern end of the island. He gaped in shock; the crazy tourist had been right. Mother Mary! That was unbelievable. He sprinted towards the explosion, not out of any fear from Gaida's life, but to make sure that their boat hadn't been damaged in the explosion. By the time he reached the canal, he was completely out of breath, but more than happy to see their launch intact. Without a second thought, he untied the rope and hit the throttle, making his way back to Venice as fast as possible.

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04/19/2034: 1820h - Poveglia Island_ - Tunnels

"WE CAN'T HOLD IT!" hollered Shockwave, as the door he and Widescope were leaning against bounced inwards again. The vampire had chased them through the hallways and laboratories bored into the rock of the island; always breaking through whatever defensive line they had formed. Sparta had been decapitated two laboratories back when she'd stayed behind to rear-guard their evacuation, and Greenshirt Franklin had been electrocuted by a dangling wire moments later. They hadn't even had time to retrieve the bodies.

"Ten seconds, just ten seconds," replied Falcon, watching Firefly rig another trap in the room. "You think this will work?"

Firefly spared him a withering glance, "you've shot him, knifed him and blown him up. I hit him with a few dozen kilos of C4, and then we shot him some more. Do you really think something as simple as electrocuting him is actually going to work? The best we can hope for is for it to slow him down enough to get us off this damned rock."

"I hate to say it," Heavy Duty said, "but he's right."

Rapid Fire nodded, "all right. Bardwait, Jordan, get upstairs and help Airtight and Med Alert load the wounded on one of our boats. We'll join you as soon as we can."

Three greenshirts stood to leave, and Rapid Fire corrected himself, "sorry, just Raymond. Darion, we need your rifle here."

"Got it boss."

"Sir?" asked Raymond before he left, "what about...our dead?"

Rapid Fire chewed his lip for a second, but had mo choice, "leave them, we can't risk the time it will take to load them. We'll come back for them more prepared."

"Yes sir."

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04/19/2034: 1835h - Hercules In-Flight_

"We've got a message incoming!" Flint said, jerking upright in his chair. "From Antenna!"

"How'd he get a message through the interference?" Lifeline queried, standing up.

"Don't know. Its pretty choppy, I'm only getting parts of it: static...evacuating island with wound...static, I think he meant wounded...more static, dead behind, more static, vampire well armed and arm, static...armored I think...Firefly assisting...static...evacuating island. Avoid on pain of death. Its repeating on a loop."

"Skywalker, can you get us there any faster?"

"I'm already pushing us at top speed, it will be a good six hours until we make it there, even at this speed."

Lifeline shook his head, "Flint, can you get a message back to them?"

"I'm no com tech, but I'll try."

"Right, I'll go get Airwave, perhaps he'll have an idea."

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04/19/2034: 1912h - Poveglia Island_ - Surface

Firefly had managed to jury-rig a series of explosives in a tight hallway just before the stairs. Though they hadn't hit the vampire with any of them, Shockwave had managed to barricade one door in the last laboratory long enough to hold him in place while they evacuated through the tunnel before bringing it down behind themselves. Rapid Fire was hedging a bet that the fallen rock would prevent the thing from following them long enough to get to the boats. If it didn't they were all screwed. Only Falcon and Shockwave had more than a single magazine of ammunition left in their possession. The rest of them had run dry during their escape. Thankfully they'd avoided losing any more of their number, but that was a certainty if this continued any longer.

"Everyone, make for the boats as fast as you can, leave whatever gear you have."

The clatter of weapons hitting the floor followed, as Joes dropped whatever they were carrying in preparation for a run.

"Falcon, take them down, go."

"Yes sir!"

But Falcon and the first wave of evacuees were barely out of the door the the main building then the ground in front of them exploded upwards as if punched by the first of Hades himself. Rising from the ground was a demon close enough to the description to send chills through every man and woman's heart.

Greenshirt Forman reacted fastest, scooping up her sniper rifle and fired her last three rounds into the beast's chest. It didn't even slow it down. The Joes were all scooping their weapons up and backing away. Every one of them probably knew this would be their last stand, Rapid Fire reflected, just as he knew he was staring death in the face. But in front of them all, the Venice police woman was frozen in place.

"Are you crazy?" Widescope yelled, "RUN!"

She turned, but her foot caught in the strap of a discarded pack, sending her tumbling to the ground. Seeing her fall, the creature sprang forward, mouth open and claws raised. Several Joes fired reflexively, but it didn't help, Gaida rolled over and screamed as the beast descended on her.

Then, time seemed to stop, the vampire shuddered to a stop over Gaida's body, and her screaming continued, then quietened. The Joes watched in horrified curiosity as she rolled the body off of her. Unnoticed behind them, Kracken plucked at Firefly's sleeve and the two disappeared into the night.

Gaida's chest was a mass of blood where the creature had skewered her with his claws, she wouldn't survive long enough to get to the boats, let alone a hospital, but she'd gone out fighting Rapid Fire saw.

The bag she'd tripped over belonged to Dart, and from it, she had pulled a single item which she had used to defend herself, and which now protruded from the creature's chest, approximately where its heart would have been: a single wooden tent stake.

With her dying breath, Gaida asked a single question, "why the hell, didn't you guys try that first?" 


End file.
